


Pieces of Green

by zombettie



Series: The Pieces Of [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Trespasser compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 101,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombettie/pseuds/zombettie
Summary: Chosen of Andraste. She tried not to grimace in front of them, it wasn’t her goal to be rude, but calling her some holy herald was right on par with calling her a Dwarven Paragon.





	1. Chapter 1

It was so cold, she wondered if she would ever grow used to it, though it didn’t seem as though the weather would be improving any time soon. Sure, the sun had been bright in the sky throughout the day, but it did little more than offer their pocket of the world a source of light. She was certain it hadn’t offered any measure of heat to chase the chill or the frost. It wasn’t the first time she had ever seen snow, or felt such biting cold, but her clan didn’t often linger with such weather for extended periods of time. Rather, their exposure to such elements was often in passing, cutting through mountains to carry on their trek, or to make a specific stop for trade. 

Being stuck as she was, was completely different. Being bound to this place with no plan to move on anytime soon, was unnerving in a way. She was allowed to venture out, explore the immediate area, or even take in the nearby towns, but always with an escort of some kind. They said it was for her protection, to keep her safe and alive. More so, she reasoned, to keep the glowing green mark on her hand alive so she could continue to stitch the sky. Of which she hadn’t yet complained. Her opinion was simply that it would be nice to be able to go more than a handful of steps out the gate without someone watching her.

She was pretty sure that she had proven to them that she had no intention of running. Even if she did, she had no idea where exactly to go. She would have to track herself back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes just to get proper bearings, and that place was currently guarded like a fortress, any number of patrolling soldiers would take notice of her and she couldn’t exactly hide the magic that currently held residence within the palm of her hand.

Bored, she sat atop the scaffolding overlooking Haven’s gates. Her eyes seemed to sweep the cluster of buildings just below, but her mind was somewhere else, mentally organizing the day. In order to keep everyone straight, she had constructed a thought out list, aligning names with traits and faces and she ticked through the list the last few days at sundown. It served both a means of remembering who everyone was, as well as an end of the day taking of stock of whether or not everyone was alive and counted for. So far, so good.

Varric was a dwarf, he was funny. He gave everyone nicknames. Including his crossbow named Bianca. She wondered who the item was named for, or if there was something about the name Bianca that just tickled him so. He said that she didn’t have a name yet, but he would come up with something at some point. He said he hoped she didn’t hate it, but thought she probably would. He was also a writer, she was told. She considered beginning a hunt for his books in order to gauge his mastery in her own opinion rather than accepting those of her other companions which varied greatly depending on whom she inquired with.

Cassandra was human. Strong, stubborn, and so very fierce in her actions and her faith. Not exactly an individual that she desired to cross, but still, she was only human. Likely selfish and narrow minded. How quickly she had condemned her without ever having spoken simply because she had survived the conclave when no one else had. She wondered if she would have taken her to Val Royeaux for execution if she had not possessed the thrumming mark on her hand. Still, she had been quick to right the slight against her in the recent days, attempting to buffer any further misspoken words offered by anyone. The woman still seemed to hold a guarded interest, her eyes often silently seeking the mark.

The thought prompted her to look at the offending thing. A split in the skin of her palm that pulsed that eerie green, like a wound that hadn’t yet had the opportunity to heal properly, but should have at least started the process in the days that had passed since it had seared its way on to her. But it did partially heal, only to rip back open every time she lifted it up to dispel a rip in the world. Each attempt was a moment of unfiltered pain as if the magic within was trying to claw its way out of her like it didn’t belong bound beneath her skin. But once each rift sealed, the pain would die and the heat would ebb. 

Solas seemed the most interested in it, what made it tick and the extent of what it could do. There were moments after closing rifts that he would take her hand and turn it over between his, asking her how she felt. And she would lie. She would tell him that she was fine. Whether or not he bought the lie or believed her, she was still uncertain. At least when he inspected it and tried to draw on the magic, he would tell her stories of the things he dreamed of in the Fade to distract her, and she was quite content with the things he offered her about the world as it was, and what it had been. He perceived the world around them differently than the others here.

Most of the number in Haven were human, and most still looked at her as though caught between trying to decide if she was wild or if she was their savior. She wasn’t sure she appreciated either option.

Leliana was shady, likely obviously good at what she specialized in. But she wondered what would have driven a woman to become such. Had she been born to it? Or had life curved just so that she had been thrust into the role without an alternative to grasp for? The title seemed fit to mark an individual that was harder, darker, more sinister, and though Leliana seemed to be able to shift into any of those guises, she was sometimes the first to smile in light of some dumb joke. And the way it would light up her eyes, she didn’t seem the type to slit someone’s throat in the dark.

Cullen seemed almost too pretty for his role as a war commander. Maybe that was what made him perfect for his position. She laughed to herself at the thought of an invading army falling all over themselves at the sight of such a beautiful human heading their own militia. 

Josephine was somewhat more approachable than almost anyone else in Haven, but that figured with the fact that she defined herself as a diplomat. She had probably been born to privilege and had had the opportunity to watch a number of different people throughout her youth to learn what strings made what parts talk and what parts quiet. Send a letter to quell a political storm, leave a pair of gloves at a gala to start a family war.

Shifting up onto her knees, she turned towards the ladder. Reaching for the first rung, she turned herself onto it properly before kicking out a toe and sliding her way down to the ground.

“Graceful.” Varric commented and she offered him a faint smile before tucking a section of her blood red hair behind her ear. “Seven, if you were trying to keep count.” He spoke again and she shook herself, realizing she had let her eyes wander to the ground before her absently. She tilted her head questioningly as she looked back at him again. “Seven rifts, so far.”

“Oh.” Her smile widened cautiously. “I’m sorry if I didn’t seem to be…”

“Paying attention?” He filled in for her and she nodded. “Don’t worry about it, kid, you’ve a lot on your plate all at once. I’m surprised you’re still walking around like a normal person after the last twelve days of your life.”

Was that all that it had been? It seemed like so much longer than a mere twelve days. “I swear that it has felt longer.” More like twelve weeks or even worse. 

He gave a nod of his head, offering a degree of agreement. “Now that Cassandra has given up on looming over you and is out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day. Or one month.” He lifted his brows and she shook her head. “And you’ve managed to close seven rifts so far in the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast. To be honest, you should be dead in your bed right now.”

Ivuni swallowed as she considered her next choice of words, but confessed how she felt. “I have no idea what’s happening anymore.” And that was the truth. She should have either been dead, or back home with her clan, instead she was here of all places with a horde of humans who kept looking at her funny and calling her weird names.

“That makes two of us.” Varric sighed, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck, and she mentally noted that was a move she had noted the commander make as well, a tell of sorts. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.” 

He couldn’t believe that, and yet she stood right in front of him. If anyone was still having trouble grasping the fact, it should be her, the one still alive. They said she had physically been in the Fade and had been spit out with the figure of a woman at her backside. No one just entered the Fade and took a quick stroll like a walk through the woods. Ivuni shook herself and tried to take control of the conversation. “If it was that bad, why did you stay?” It was honest curiosity, not an interrogation and she had to bite her lip to curb her tone. “Cassandra said you were free to go.”

“I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this…” He trailed off and she let her eyes fall back to the fire he had created and waited for him to continue if he so chose to. Varric rubbed Cassandra the wrong way for reasons she was yet unsure of, but he seemed the most honest of anyone currently within the confines of Haven. “Thousands of people died on that mountain.” And he had been there because of Cassandra, for some reason. “I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and leave that to sort itself out.” 

So he was funny and honorable, admirable qualities. “I’m still not sure that I believe any of this is happening.” She kept hoping that at some point she was going to wake up and this was all going to fade away like some dream to be forgotten.

Varric sighed and shook his head. “If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punch line coming.”

His choice of words prompted her to contemplate his faith. She thought Andrastians were primarily human. Of what she knew of dwarves, she thought that they believed their kind returned to the stone, names carved in lyrium to be remembered, always. She hadn’t expected to ever align the thought of a dwarf with the human’s Maker. Then again, she had never thought to consider possessing some gob of magic clinging to her hand turning her into some divine herald. She looked down at her hand again and the thought of being aligned with these people’s deity made her skin crawl.

She couldn’t completely fight back the chuckle that bubbled up the back of her throat. It bordered almost on madness when it left her lips. Her entire life had been flipped upside down and then shaken wildly inside out. She was a Dalish elf from the woods, and all of these humans insisted that their oh-so-holy Andraste had rescued her from harm and delivered her from the Fade like a gift. Her unmarked hand lifted up towards her mouth to stem the sound and she bit at her lower lip. One minute they had thought her a savage, the next she was their salvation.

Varric laughed and shook his head. “No, kid, you’re not crazy.”

But she sure felt as though she were. “I’m going to go for a walk.” She said as she raised an arm and pointed towards the gates. “Will try to clear the crazy.”

“Maybe some shoes, Dimples.” Varric suggested with a shrug, but rather than standing and waiting for her to argue, he turned back towards the fire behind him.

For a few moments, she wondered what he might be thinking about. She wondered if perhaps he would use their lives to write one of his books. Personally she wasn’t sure if or why anyone would ever want to read about her. After this was finished, she planned to return to her clan. If she lived. She had considered the fact that she may not make it out of this alive, but being the realist that she tried to be, she acknowledged the fact that everyone died. If this took her life, she hoped she would at least go down fighting.

Ivuni glanced down at her almost completely bare feet for a moment before stepping back towards the scaffolding to reach for her bow and quiver, slinging them over her shoulder in a single fluid motion. Her feet padded down the short stairwell and she shook her head at the thought of shoes or boots. She understood why Varric suggested them, to keep her feet warm and safe from the snow outside of Haven, but she couldn’t bring herself to don them. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her if she covered her feet, and they had always seemed somewhat immune to the weather, even if she pulled her jacket tighter about herself.

She looked briefly towards the little tavern and the little cluster of buildings that sat above it where the apothecary kept himself and his wares, as well as where Solas had taken up lodging in one of the little houses. She wondered if it felt normal to him, to live within the confines of walls as he wasn’t Dalish, or since he was considered a ‘hedge mage’ if he found them just as stifling as she did. His life being as mysterious as it was, she often wondered if he had always lived in the wild, or if he had been born in a town. Wondered if his childhood had been spent in nomadic fashion or if he had initially been bound to one place.

Their initial encounter after he had yanked her arm upward to seal that first breach had been brief before Cassandra had ushered them onward towards the forward camp. She could remember him commenting on having crossed paths with her people, and she knew in that moment that his view on the Dalish was less than stellar, especially when she had insisted they were all the same people and he had noted that those of her kind he had happened upon had been of different minds. Thus were the Dalish, so many untrusting of outsiders. Her clan was always wary, yet they had tried numerous times to extend an amicable hand to human traders and the likes of the occasional city elf out in the wilderness. Deshanna insisted that elves were elves and she had accepted that from an early age.

Waving the thoughts away for later, she continued down towards and through Haven’s gates.

A few guards took note of her and she offered them half smiles when they scrambled to salute, pressing their right fists against their chests as though offering a silent prayer or promise. Chosen of Andraste. She tried not to grimace in front of them, it wasn’t her goal to be rude, but calling her some holy herald was right on par with calling her a Dwarven Paragon.

She opted away from the training grounds, though very few were awake enough to even carry conversations around a few fire pits. The flickering would be enough to remind her of where she was when all she wanted to do was lose herself in something wild. 

The workshop was quiet and The Iron Bull and his merry band seemed to have turned in for the evening, or more likely they had all set to knocking back tankards at the tavern, if she had to guess. That lot could be loud enough to wake the dead, yet oddly enough could manage to operate in almost complete silence a moment later. Their leader was exceedingly amusing if she were being honest, half the things he said were so inappropriate and the fact that they were, and that he offered them so readily, often had her grinning like a fool. It was a refreshing break from the humans and their propriety.

Veering off the path, her toes slipped into the familiar light chill of fresh snow. Only to come grinding to a dead halt when light flickered off a tiny reflective surface. Her fingers went cautiously to the lower limb of her bow as it stepped forward into the light cast by the torch that still burned at the workshop. Large gray paws padded all but silently forward, pausing enough to leave space between them that The Iron Bull could have laid out between them end to end with his arms above his head.

Sucking in a quiet breath, she released her bow and slowly lowered herself down to her left knee, her eyes fixed on the seemingly glowing pair staring back at her. It didn’t advance any further, though, neither did it choose to retreat. It was measuring her, gauging her reaction to its presence, and she held its gaze. She refused to waiver. This was the place she currently called home and she was not going to be intimidated by a lone wolf. 

It tilted its head slightly as it considered her, an air of curiosity seemingly in the way that it regarded her. Perhaps that was it then. It had separated itself from the woods surrounding to investigate rather than challenge. At present, it offered no threat and there appeared to be no more of its kind to number an actual pack. She briefly wondered if it was a mother with cubs denned up somewhere waiting to be fed, but those wolves were often more aggressive and the one before her seemed more inclined to slating curiosity than looking to pick a fight.

“My lady.” A voice called and she stilled. 

The wolf lifted its head and briefly lifted a paw from the snow, sniffing at the air as its attention shifted over her shoulder. With care, she turned her head back towards the gates to notice a pair of sentries, one with bow in hand and an arrow drawn ready to be loosed. Up higher on the steps stood Varric and Solas. She lingered briefly on Varric who didn’t look pleased with her proximity to a wild animal, then let her gaze sweep up towards Solas whose features remained as neutral as ever, always watching. 

_“Do not ever offer a wolf your back.” Harean’s words filled her mind._

_“But what if I am frightened?” She had asked._

_“Do not show the wolf your fear.” He had continued. “Let it know that you are its equal.”_

Her eyes slipped away from all four of them and she half expected the wolf to have slunk away what with an audience. Yet it still stood waiting, its form somewhat more tense, its eyes looking towards her companions. Ivuni sighed, carefully, quietly, as she lifted her unmarked hand from her side and held it forward. She made no attempt to move closer, simply remained where she was on bended knee with her hand offered for the taking or not. The wolf looked back at her again, then, its amber eyes locking onto her. It gave a brief sniff of the air between them before it took another step towards her.

She felt her heart beat quicken in her chest, but it was not fear of the creature before her that chased her pulse, rather it was the actions that may be taken by the human sentries behind her out of their fear. Fear of the wolf’s unknown motives, fear for their own lives, fear for hers. Still, the wolf moved closer another set of steps until it could nudge her hand with its damp nose, sniffing once more. Then it slid its snout between her palm and waiting fingers, rubbing its face against her hand and inhaled the scent of her wrist. 

“Well, shit.” She barely heard Varric mutter.


	2. Chapter 2

The fingertips of her left trailed the silken gauze, the edge of the slit in the light fluttering skirt that cut high on her thigh. It was an interesting fabric, shifting like liquid with each step she took and weighed very little. Her right hand trailed the intricate frescoes that decorated the walls, silently appreciating their beauty in their familiarity. When dawn broke and cast the world alight with warmth, the walls on the eastern side of the building would glow alabaster. But for now, everything was dim, everything was cool. A gentle evening breeze swept through the temple’s expanse, perfuming it with the scent of dusk lily. Braziers of pale blue fire lined the walls, offering the temple a subtle radiance and cast flickering shadows along the gold speckled white marble floors.

Her bare feet made it easy to move about the sparse midnight patrons and priests without notice. She was so quiet that she had managed to stun a single priestess who had been moving almost directly towards her and only the shadow of a column had managed to keep her hidden until she was right next to the other woman. The priestess had startled, taking stock of her appearance and had all but readied herself to drop to the floor on the spot before she had stilled her with a warm hand and a smile. The woman had scuttled off, offering soft spoken apologies built from words she only partially understood.

The direction she sought was towards the eastern prayer alcove that possessed a side door that would allow her to slip out into the city otherwise unseen. She reached back and lifted the light hood from her shoulders and set it atop her head, drawing it forward enough that light from above would cast shadows over her features to obscure her identity from casual glances.

The altar was bare save the presence of a gently smoking cluster of endalwood incense that bathed the room and the hall leading to it in a spicy scent.

A shrouded figure stepped into her path, baring her from reaching the side door that she desperately sought. She couldn’t see his face, not even when she stepped closer to him, though there was familiarity in the way he carried himself. When he spoke, it was quiet, words muffled as though she had had her head submerged beneath water. She folded her hands before her and she felt her own lips move, responding as though the individual had struck up conversation that she was supposed to be party to. The figure spoke again in reply and stepped closer to her. She felt her lips smile in response and she tilted her head as he swept closer to her. The harder she tried to make out his features, the more they seemed to skew, and the tighter the darkness crept and settled in.

They exchanged further, until his tone shifted, pleading almost and she swallowed under the weight of it. It was strange to hear him so desperate, even though she had no idea who he was or what he was saying to her. He continued, implored her further and she vaguely made out a ‘please’. But she shook her head, or the version of her in this place shook her head. Whatever he wanted from her, he was not going to get it and she couldn’t understand why he was asking her for it, asking her to ‘give up’. If she could focus better– Then he stepped towards her and a brief flash of concern flared through her veins before she was torn clean out of her dream.

The sudden shift from Fade to reality hit her square in the chest like a hammer colliding with metal. She gasped in the dim morning light that permeated the tent and her hand reflexively gripped at the blankets near her face. Realizing she had rolled onto her right side at some point, she searched for Solas’s familiar silhouette, but he was already awake and gone, his blankets and bedding folded neatly on his side.

She took a moment to ground herself to the waking world and rubbed her palms against her face. Her attempt at stifling a yawn was useless and she half considered folding herself back into her bedding and attempting to slip back off to the Fade, but if Solas was awake, that meant others in their group could be as well also. She had no plans of being the one everyone waited around for if she fumbled through sleep into later hours. Ivuni resigned herself to rising, folding up her bedding and rolling it into a pack before stripping herself down enough out of her linen top and pants and drawing her normal gear on.

The fineweave mail was easy enough to draw over her head and it slid like liquid to her hips, then she drew the matching leggings up her legs and hooked the opposing pieces together to appear a single garment. The split leather tunic was next, followed by belts and the fur spaulders at her shoulders that secured across her chest. She slipped a scarf about her neck before reaching for the thigh high leather bracers. Harritt still insisted on trying to ‘outfit her better’ but she struggled to see how taking on new armor would suit her when hers was just fine.

She yawned again as she padded out of the tent and was assaulted by the familiar scent of cooked eggs and some kind of warm bread. Who in the whole of Thedas had gone hunting for eggs? She squinted when she took in the campsite that was otherwise quiet save the low crackling fire. The sun hadn’t even crested the horizon yet, so who…? Then she caught herself as she took in the pair of figures sitting opposite each other around the fire on crates. As different as they could be, their ears would mark them bound to each other before humans. It was interesting to find them both up before anyone else.

“Ah, the glow-y one. ‘Bout time, yeah?” Sera lifted a steaming cup to her lips and took a long drought of its contents. “You let this lot stay soft and lumpy into the wee morning hours?”

That she had no immediate response didn’t escape her, or the other elf who lifted his head to look her way. She wasn’t sure what to make of either of them at the moment and instead of responding or offering any comments, she made herself move towards them instead, coming to stand equidistant from either elf. The three of them were completely different, yet humans would deem them the same.

Sera seemed almost…human in some odd respect. She was clearly not Dalish, she spoke more freely than any City elf she had ever come across, but she was not a mage, so very unlike Solas. As though attuned to her thoughts, he glanced her way and she held his gaze for a moment before she turned her focus to Sera once more. When Solas shifted, she took note of the flat iron back sitting over the low fire and watched him scrape a decent portion of eggs onto a small wooden plate before he handed it to her.

“You went and…hunted for eggs?”

He offered her a half smile when she took the plate from his hands. “That would be the work of your lead scout.”

Ah, Harding. She often wondered if the woman actually slept. She was always the first up, and often times the last to turn in during the evening. With a sigh, she sat down on one of the short crates and stared at her eggs for a long while as her thoughts tried to pick apart her dream. That wasn’t the first time she had ever had it, but it was the clearest it had ever been. Usually she could make out the floor and flickering lights, anything else was always some smudge or blur. “She doesn’t belong to me.”

“I don’t think that was what he meant.” Varric stepped out of his tent and straightened the right cuff of his jacket at the wrist. She watched him moved towards their little half circle of seats and he put himself to her left. “Calm your britches, Dimples.”

A spoon slid onto her plate and she shook herself, watching Solas’s hand retreat back to himself. “Thank you.” Then she looked at him. “I have a question for you.” She broached the subject carefully, but tried to keep the concern about her dream out of her voice. “But…I think I will ask it later.” Her eyes moved briefly away from him and towards Sera as he looked at her. “I just don’t want to forget.”

“Very well.” He replied with a tilt of his head. “I have a request also.”

Ivuni drew the spoon from between her lips and pushed the bit of egg on her tongue into her cheek. “Go ahead.”

“An investigation, if you will.” He continued and she waited for him to say more. When he looked at her, she lifted her eyebrows to silently encourage him on. “As I explored the Fade, I felt the presence of an intriguing artifact.” So there it was. “If you are willing, I would like to locate it.” He stood then, and stepped away from them towards the map table and set his finger down. “I have marked its location as best I could determine.”

“Ugh.” Sera groaned. “It’s just dawn and immediately on to elfy knick knacks?”

Ivuni smirked at the sentiment and rose from her seat, setting her dish down on the ground as she stepped around the fire and over to the Mage. Her barefoot steps were careful and for a moment, when he turned back towards them, he seemed almost surprised to find her suddenly behind him. Without a comment on the matter, she stepped up beside him to get a better look at the map and the location he was pointing at. “That’s,” she looked up and ahead of them out of the camp, “seemingly very close, actually.”

“Please drop me off somewhere normal before you go foraging in the wilderness for pretty ancient trinkets.” The other archer pleaded.

“I’ll make you a deal, Sera.” Ivuni decided as she turned once more towards the fire and leaned back slightly against the table. “A shooting match.” And the other woman sat up a bit straighter. “If you outshoot me, we’ll return all the way back to Haven first and allow you the opportunity to settle in before we return to the Hinterlands for the elfy artifact.” The other woman’s features brightened expectantly. “But,” she lifted a finger to quell the blonde’s blooming joy, “if I win, you come along without any further complaint for the next week.”

She watched Sera weigh her options and it was interesting to her that the other woman was so open with her thoughts and emotions. It was more like being at home where many of her clan often spoke their mind rather than feeling the need to hide themselves behind some sort of mask. That Sera had already made it clear that she preferred to not be surrounded by much ‘elfy’, the fact that her personality presented more like a Dalish she would know than a human or city elf, was intriguing.

“You’re on, Glowbug.” Sera gave a nod of approval, extended her hand, and Ivuni slid hers against the other, sealing the deal with a firm shake. “I get to set up targets. Best out of three, yeah?”

“Sure.” She gave a nod and then watched the other woman set to work.

Sera searched for and found three rather bare sheets of paper between the requisitions table and the map table and immediately set to work with a piece of charred wood from the fire in making quick targets. She was aware of Solas turning and when she looked up at him, he was looking down at her.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, his brows rising slightly.

“Everything will be fine.” She assured him and set a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t wager when I know there’s no hope of me winning.”

The Iron Bull woke in the meantime and quietly moved about the camp before taking a seat near the fire and set to slipping his sparse armor into place. “What’s that one up to?” He nodded to the blonde flitting about the site scribbling and babbling to herself.

“Chuckles wants to look for an artifact, Buttercup doesn’t want to go.” Varric filled him in. “Dimples offered a wager in regard to archery skill. We either go hunting an artifact, or we return to Haven, depending on who outshoots who.”

“I’ve got a sovereign on the redhead.”

“Thank you, Bull.” Ivuni beamed.

“I’m not stupid, boss.” He replied and picked up her plate, finishing off her otherwise discarded eggs.

 

Sera was good, she would give her that credit as it was due. The first two shots they each took put them startlingly close to one another around the bullseyes that had been outlined. Ivuni attempted to temper herself and forced her hands to slightly misplace themselves to keep with her companion’s skill, but when Sera hit the third mark just shy of dead center, she knew it was time to buck up, or shut up. She had no desire to trek all the way back to Haven when they were so obviously close to the artifact that Solas wished to investigate.

So she stood steady, her marked hand holding the fletch of her arrow and bowstring back taut, her eyes on the dead center of the target, only shifting to take into account Sera’s currently placed arrow. She could miss the center by just as much and consider a draw, but that wasn’t the point. One of them had to win, and she was going to be selfish about it. She simply hated the idea of angering someone she planned to take with her immediately following.

It would easy, but she had to make it look like there was effort present, she had to give off the image that the pressure was making her sweat or she would never be able to use this bargaining method again. And she appreciated it, it gave her something to connect with. There was little else that outright bound her to other members of this Inquisition, save Solas also being an elf. Sera brought that with her, but she was also an archer. As much as she was gradually growing to appreciate her companions, no one else could offer this…kinship.

Ivuni inhaled slowly and tried to gauge how much longer she needed to draw this out until Sera sighed. “If you can’t make the shot, it is fine to give. I promise not to lord it over you forever.”

That was the tipping point. When she exhaled she released her arrow and glanced briefly towards Varric who was looking back at her and she smirked. She was aware of the exact moment that the arrow struck the target. She could hear it, the way the tip split through part of the shaft of the other arrow that so that hers hit dead center, the way it slid into place amongst wooden splinters.

“What in the name of Andraste’s tits?!” Sera shrieked as she stalked towards the target.

“Cute, Dimples, real cute.” Varric shook his head, a grin plastered to his face as he for the hundredth time that morning wiped Bianca down with an oiled cloth.

“To what would you be referring?” Ivuni feigned naiveté.

Varric shook his head, still grinning. “It will never end with her, now.”

She shrugged her shoulders as she looked once more over at Sera who was over analyzing the last shot target, still shrieking. It was interesting to watch the other woman then inspect her own arrows with care, lift them up as though to gauge their weight and balance, check their fletching before carefully slipping each back into the waiting quiver. One would never think that she whipped them out with seemingly no concern during a fight. “Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition.”

 

Sera, thankfully, made good on her deal and accepted her loss with dignity. She also insisted on a fluke of odd luck that she would overcome the next time they were presented with an impasse upon which to bet their skills once more. Ivuni had simply nodded and had somehow managed a very polite smile in place of the overbearing grin that had wanted to split her lips wide. Sera could insist on a shootout anytime, and any place, and Ivuni would gladly rise to the challenge. Without any further fuss, she had followed Solas away from camp with Sera and Bull in tow.

The terrain was easy enough. Sure there were the occasional set of sloping hills, but on the trek that Solas seemed to pave, following the map that he had folded to frame just the right area, was rather even ground.

“Do you always shoot that well?” Sera asked as she stepped quicker to put herself at her side.

“Sometimes.” She gave a nod and a half smile.

Sera seemed to struggle with not rolling her eyes. “Where did you learn?”

She was Dalish and Sera wanted to know where she had learned to shoot. “When I was about five, Harean put a bow in my hands. He was one of our lead hunters.” Best to start at the beginning, she supposed. “He was a bit put off by my hand choice, but he accepted it when I apparently hit marks closer than others of the clan who were my senior.” Ivuni shrugged her shoulders. “It was just always there, one thing that I was actually good at.” Because she wasn’t always the best at much else. “You?”

“Self taught.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Sera?” Solas’s voice slipped back from the lead he had and she lifted her head to find he had actually paused in order to turn back to look at them. “If you eschew all things elven, why not use a crossbow? They require less training.”

“An excellent point.” Ivuni folded her hands behind herself.

“Ugh.” Sera shook her head. “Too winchy.”

“Ah, yes.” Solas mused. “Winchiness. A point I had not considered.”

Ivuni chuckled and slowed her pace slightly as she glanced over her shoulder at Bull who offered her a closed lip smile in reply.

“According to my research, the Ancient elves may have set up wards near here.” Solas drew their collective focus back forward and she watched him take several steps further ahead of them. “If we can find the artifact they used, we may help strengthen the area against tears.”

“This Fade shit really gets his rocks off.” Bull muttered and Ivuni clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, then he grinned at her. “It’s not polite to laugh at your comrade’s expense, boss.”

“Oh, okay, Bull, whatever you say.”

A voice drifted back from up ahead, and the moment it sounded vaguely distressed, they each picked up their pace. Bull moved so much quicker, which in some light was shocking considering his size, overtaking their steps; one of his for every two of theirs. Ivuni and Sera parted around Solas and he then brought up the rear of the group where he had previously led.

She felt a barrier engulf her, clinging tight her form like a second skin as she moved within range of the exact area that Solas had indicated on the map. Bull drew his weapon and glanced back towards her for direction when he spied a Dalish woman face to face with a demon. Ivuni set her foot against a rock before her and drew an arrow back with her left hand. She lined up the shot, fixating on a quick drop when another arrow whistled by her and struck the demon through the left eye. It stilled and immediately dropped to the ground before combusting into green vapor.

Ivuni let her arm go lax and glanced at Sera when she stepped up beside her, a smug little step to her stride. “Don’t worry, Glowbug, I got that one for you.”

“Andaran atish’an. I did not expect to see another of Dalish blood here. My name is Mihris.” The Dalish woman panted as she gripped her staff. “By your weapons, I see you come ready for battle. Perhaps we face a common enemy in these demons.”

It seemed somewhat odd, though not entirely unheard of, to find a Dalish so far from any sight of any clan. At least it wouldn’t seem so odd if the woman had possessed a bow in place of a staff. And she had been here alone against a demon. “Are you fighting the demons on your own?”

“Fighting the demons is pointless. There will always be more. And I have no means of closing the rifts.” She made it sound as if common knowledge that demons pouring from rifts in the sky were an everyday occurrence. “But I have heard of elven artifacts that measure the veil. They may tell us where new rifts will appear.” Ivuni couldn’t help but look towards Solas who had his eyes on Mihris. “I was not expecting so many demons, however. I believe one of the artifacts is nearby. Can you help me reach it?”

She offered the other woman a guarded smile. “It sounds worth investigating.”

“Thank you. It shouldn’t be too much farther ahead.” She said as she pointed further ahead towards what appeared to be toppled ruins.

“What took you away from your clan?” Sera’s voice piped up and Ivuni felt herself somewhat taken aback by the fact that _she_ had felt compelled to ask that exact question, yet it was Sera who had actually posed it.

“They were all killed…by a demon that our Keeper was foolish enough to summon.” Her voice dipped, a hint of bitterness twisting her words. “I am the only survivor of Clan Vrinehn. I was searching for another clan that would take me in when the Breach appeared. Now, I’m doing whatever I can to help with this madness.”

It was not even remotely her place to make any sort of offer to Mihris, yet part of her wanted to indicate the direction she would find her own clan camped at. Deshanna would offer her welcome, regardless. She always said that their people were precious and that they needed to care for one another regardless of clan or background.

When they reached what she assumed the mark area on the map that happened to coincide with the general area Mihris had indicated, Ivui stepped towards the toppled stone. There were images and old writing that had been carved and worn away by weather and time. She traced her fingertips through the grooves as though she could will meaning into the words written just by touching them and wanting them to mean something.

“We’ll need focused magical energy to get by.” Mirhis indicated the obvious need to clear the path. “You, Flat-Ear, can you manage it?”

“Excuse you.” Ivuni turned and regarded the other woman who had looked to Solas, taking a measure of offense. It was odd, though, it was a term she was very used to hearing, yet having some stranger direct it at someone she considered a companion was insulting.

“Ma nuvenin, da’len.” Solas spoke and smoothed over the metaphorical rift that threatened to erupt between her and the other Dalish woman. He glanced her way and let his attention linger briefly on her before turning towards the overturned rubble. He made it look easy when he loosed his magic and lifted everything back into its apparent place.

Two further demons just within were simple enough to dispel with a well placed spell and a large axe. The flickering green that danced above a brazier had her stepping forward curiously to inspect it closer. It didn’t actually cling to anything the way a normal flame would, instead it appeared to hover just within the confines of the metal cage.

“I have heard of this, but never seen it before. It is called veilfire.” Solas said as she stepped forward to stand beside her. “It is a form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame that burns in this world where the veil is thin.”

“Well it’s pretty dark and dusty down here.” Sera called from further into the ruin. “Better bring that junk down here so we’re not tripping all over ourselves.”

From beside them, Solas lifted a torch from a holder and turned it into the green flame allowing it to ‘catch’. Much like within the brazier, the green flame hovered over the end of the torch where a normal flame would have greedily eaten up the wrapped cotton. It was…odd to say the least.

“Yep, definitely appreciate the light now.” Sera decided as she knocked an arrow into her bow.

Moving to stand closer to Sera to get a better look, Ivuni swallowed at the sight of two shades and two wraiths, and wondered how they had even managed to get into the ruin in the first place. She drew her bow from her back and notched an arrow as well, she stepped carefully almost in synch with Sera as the pair of them moved further into the room. Solas brought the veilfire torch to give them something to see by and she was very aware of Sera glancing over her shoulder at her, offering a nod. “One, two...” And they each loosed an arrow and each struck a target clean through. As if on que, Bull charged forward and swung his axe.

It was strangely comforting to fall into a rhythm with Sera, it was almost as if the other woman anticipated her steps and moves and positioned herself to mirror Ivuni’s every step and draw. It made each attack somewhat of a coordinated dance. When one of them took a hit, the other was there to compensate. So much so that when the four remnants had been dispersed and Sera held a fist forward, Ivuni bumped hers against it with a smirk.

“There, if we can activate that crystal, it should react to the strength of the veil.” Mihris indicated a circular item adorned with raw crystals.

Solas moved around them and she watched exactly how he pushed and pulled at three of the smaller crystals before sliding another one seemingly ‘into place. Then the globe started to glow, green like the rifts, green like the magic locked within her hand. “Yes, the wards are helping to strengthen the veil. The area should be safer for travelers now.”

“Well, that should prove useful. And it seems the ancestors left something for me as well. Interesting.” She let her focus shift towards Mihris who plucked up a necklace from a web strewn altar. “I believe our alliance is concluded. Go in peace, stranger.”

When Ivuni glanced towards Solas, he pulled his attention from Mihris to look at her once more. She tried to press him inquisitively with just her eyes and he tilted his head, an unspoken disapproval. Ivuni sighed and turned towards the other Dalish woman. “Ma halani. Ma glandival. Vir enasalin.”

“I…perhaps you’re right. Here, take it.” Mihris held the item out to her and Ivuni accepted it with a nod of thanks. “Be well.” She offered before bowing out of their party and leaving the ruins behind.

“May I?” Solas moved towards her to inspect the amulet and Ivuni gladly turned it over to him for inspection. “I will have to see if I can find anything about it when we return to Haven.” He decided as he turned it over in his hands once and then twice.

“Hey Solas.” Sera shifted and glanced at him, her face serious. “The Veil is veil-y here.”


	3. Chapter 3

Her breath clouded out before her, but at least it wasn’t snowing in the Hinterlands, there was that single fact to be content with. It wasn’t an overwhelmingly lovely place to be, though she would admit that it was far from a complete loss. The terrain was decent enough, if she were being honest, hunting was easy, but the populace could all use an adjustment in attitude. It seemed that every time they turned around they were face to face with some ridiculous scuffle between a band of Templars and a handful of Mages. She understood the plight only so far as she hadn’t grown up in their societal structure nor bound to their religion.

For her, magic was magic, steel was steel, and faith was faith. There was little reason they had to all be at odds. Everyone had their place, was meant for something. If they were all the same, there would be nothing beautiful about life, so why force conformity?

And she wasn’t sure why any individual with magical ability would allow themselves to be caged. Or why anyone would allow themselves to be caged, it seemed barbaric if anyone wanted her opinion on the matter. Perhaps someday she’d work up the nerve to inform the Inquisition of her thoughts on the very issue. Her opinion was just that of a single individual, however, perhaps it was better politically if they didn’t side specifically or condemn either way. Then she caught herself. It had only been just over six weeks and Josephine was already starting to rub off on her. There were worse things, she supposed.

Like the fun filled trek they were taking to Redciffe to meet with the Mages. 

It was difficult having to be the deciding party in so many little quarrels amongst those seemingly in power of an entity like an Inquisition. She appeased half their number, and yet angered the other all with a single decision. How could they even bring themselves to let that fall to her? How could they trust her to make a sound and proper decision that would benefit everyone? She was just one person, only ever had to be concerned with one clan. Her job had been to hunt, to feed everyone. Her choices were often whether to shoot scouted game or let it pass in hopes that something better came along.

It was somewhat ridiculous, she wasn’t going to lie. She had no experience politically or any form of military knowledge. She knew how to stalk prey in a forest. Mostly alone. At times with an apprentice hunter. But still, often alone. Once she returned with her prize for the clan, that was it. That was where her job ended. Hunt, shoot, skin, give thanks, deliver. Done. None of this lollygagging on the balls of their feet trying to decide the best course of action so that they didn’t offend half the rest of the continent. 

She had always thought humans were regular normal people, but they drove themselves insane. 

So she had asked her ‘advisors’ to give her time to contemplate deciding between the Templars and the Mages. She had wanted to seek the opinion of her entire inner circle, then second guessed herself wondering if they would offer opinion in regard to their own self-interests, or if they would offer sound and unbiased advice. Without even really broaching the subject with any of them, she had mentally assigned the side they would likely choose simply based on who they were and what she knew of them. Which honestly was very little when she broke them all down.

Ivuni pressed both of her palms against her face and struggled to suppress a groan. She wanted to be a child about it all; stomp her feet and declare openly that none of this was fair. She had never volunteered for this. She had been assigned to learn what she could at the conclave, sent to spy and had been cursed so survive an explosion with condemning magic seared into her palm. Her part in this, for the majority, was reluctant.

Everything had been much easier when she had been deciding whether or not to follow a hunch that Solas had presented for an ‘intriguing artifact’. Then she had had only to be responsible for half a dozen people. Of which only one had proven irritated by her choices, but she had at least offered Sera a wager of skill that she could have won at. She hadn’t simply said this is where we’re going and you’re going with thought any quarrel.

She tangled her fingers into her clean damp hair and tried to comb out any tangles she happened upon before she set to the task of working a few different sections into twisting braids. She had taken her short blade to the left portion of her scalp over her ear and shorn the short hair closer to the scalp, pushing the rest of the wavy dark red hair over her right shoulder to spare it any threat.

Her ears perked in response to the sound of footsteps moving towards her. She had thought that sitting outside the direct ring of camp, she wouldn’t have been noticeable with the fire behind her. She wasn’t surprised then, when the figure she noted out of the corners of her eyes was one of ‘her kind’. She turned her focus more to her left to look at him as he sat down somewhat near her, leaning back against the bowing trunk of an oak.

Solas was not Dalish, but neither was he City, that had become a well-established fact in her head upon the mental list she tried to keep check of everyone with. He was a difficult read and she was never sure how to broach anything with him unless she was asking for his advice or if he had any knowledge about something; which he seemed to have for just about everything. So much so that she wondered why other elves, or even other Mages, didn’t seek a life similar to his own. But then she wondered if he was ever lonely, travelling the world, even when he claimed he made friends on his travels. Yet it was a topic she was never sure how to bring up with him as it seemed to fall into the realm of what constituted a normal conversation between them.

With as much time as they had all been forced to spend in each other’s’ company, she still didn’t really know these people well. Their current allotted frame of time together was starting to unravel them to her, but she had always been taught to be wary of anyone outside of her clan. Which was extremely biased and somewhat naïve in some respects. It sectioned the Dalish off from the rest of the world and made them mysterious. And humans feared what they did not understand, which was what often led to most confrontations between their two people. And humans could be merciless. Though she reasoned that– 

“You are rather wrapped up in your thoughts.” His voice brushed across the space between them and she realized at some point that she had let her eyes fall away from him as her thoughts had run away with her. 

“I apologize, just lost in it all.” She said, choosing her words somewhat carefully, unsure if he would take offense to her use of Elvish. He had offered it to Mihris, but most City elves knew very little and him being caught somewhere between them and her, she simply wasn’t sure how much or how far he would respond had she opted for it. Common just seemed the safer bet until she felt him out further. Any conversation between them thus far had occurred in Common and he had yet to make any comment about it. It also forced her brain to think in such a way in regard to the numerous humans she was now a resident among anyway. Likely if she spat out a ‘ma serranas’ or ‘ma nuvenin’ in human company, she’d earn at least some odd looks. It was probably a safe bet with the likes of Iron Bull, just as well.

Normally it didn’t matter what humans thought of her. Though, as she had grown up, she had learned to care very little for what anyone thought of her, really. If you lived constantly at the mercy of what everyone around you assumed you to be, you would never become the person you were meant to be.

He exhaled when he smirked, making the action obvious and she felt heat color her cheeks as a smile stole across her features. “I did it again.” She confessed without him needing to bring it to her attention. Her fingers stilled and she wrapped the end of her interwoven braids with a strip of leather cord, letting the braid rest over her right shoulder. “This is all…a little much, sometimes.”

“Understandable.” He said. “But how does it feel?”

She felt her brows pucker briefly, then rise questioningly as she looked back at him. How do her thoughts running amuck in her head without any ability to control them feel? “How does what feel?”

“To be the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

She couldn’t help nor suppress the laugh that bubbled up her throat. “Oh, glamorous.” She teased. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?” That was how the stories went, wasn’t it? A knight on a glorious mount riding in to save the day?

He had such a charming smile that she wondered why he kept it so guarded and out of reach. “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they are extinct.” Half his smile fell, only one corner remained held upward and she wasn’t sure if it was any worse than the full smile, or significantly better. “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” If he insisted. “I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” It sounded romantic, yet…sad. So much hope so much love, so much pride and all of it little more than ghosts in the Fade. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

The Fade was, well…she knew what it was like to fall through her dreams into the Fade, lose herself there as her body slumbered. She knew what it was like to play intermittent audience to reenactments, sometimes with herself at the center, but she had no idea how to control it. She wondered if he sat on the sidelines and watched it unfurl or it he was like the lost dreamers who could mold it to his will. That would be something. Were they actual remnants of the past, or just his own creations, then? And how vast must the field be to perceive an entire battle? That reminded her that she had not re-approached her question about the recurrent dream.

“Every great war has its heroes.” She lifted her eyes to look over at him again as he let his voice draw her back out of her thoughts. “I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Hopefully the kind that lived and got to go home in the end. The kind that got to disappear back into the world once their calling was fulfilled. She winced at the thought, the title of ‘hero’. Heroes were magnificent beings that rose to greatness, saved the world, and accepted some amazing destiny. That did not sound like her, that sounded grand, and she was anything but. In the eyes of those around her were it not for the mark on her hand, she was little more than a savage that ate game raw and danced naked in the moonlight, offering homage to her gods.

Ivuni shook her stray thoughts loose and doubled back. “What do you mean ruins and battlefields?” She realized she had him talking, and if she let her thoughts get away from her again, she may lose the opportunity to gain more.

He stared at her for a long few moments and she found herself caught trying to figure out if he wanted to divulge more to her or if he was surprised that she bothered to ask. “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history.” He broached the subject with care, his eyes fixed on her as though he were trying to gauge her level of interest. She waited patiently, urging him to continue as best she could without explicitly blurting it out to him. “Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds.” Would that ever allow either side to truly bleed into the other? “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

It sounded amazing, a little beyond her comprehension at times, but fascinating that he wanted to know such history. But how did he get there? Wouldn’t he have to actually– “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Then his smile was back again. “I do set wards.” Ah, of course, magic and all. “And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.” 

She nibbled at her lower lip at the thought. She wasn’t keen on the idea of falling asleep anywhere with giant spiders, offerings left or not. “I’ve never heard of anyone going that deep into the Fade.” It was a lot of things. “That’s extraordinary.” Because that was the best word she could come up with to describe the way it sounded. He dug into the deepest wells within the Fade and he didn’t flinch or shiver or grow egotistical about it. He just…appreciated what he found.

“Thank you.” Solas tilted his head again, and he searched for a proper smile to offer her. “It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning.” Maybe not obvious to her, she thought it sounded interesting, but as he had pointed out on the mountain, she wasn’t a mage so perhaps she didn’t understand its full mechanics. “The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

She felt herself smile then, in response to the tone in his voice. He loved it, like few people loved a very few things. His feelings were genuine. “I think I would like to see that. Someday.” 

“I will stay, then, at least until the breach is closed.”

She frowned slightly. “Was that in doubt?”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a Mage rebellion.” He reminded her and she felt foolish that just speaking with him could chase that consideration from her thoughts. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

It was more than that, and she gave a tight nod. He wasn’t just a Mage surrounded by Chantry forces. He was an elven Mage surrounded by Chantry forces. “You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.” And she would stand by that. There was no way in any shape or form, short him being taken over by a demon, would she allow anyone to make threat against him. She had to possess some clout with the awesome glowing green of her palm.

His expression shifted into something that bordered skepticism and amusement. “How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

Once more, he regarded her in silence, he held her gaze only allowing it to briefly trace the map of her face before returning to her eyes. People said the eyes were the windows to the soul and she had nothing to hide. She would stand up and fight for him if necessary. He had done nothing to earn anyone’s ire, in fact had volunteered himself, if she understood correctly. “Thank you.” But she wasn’t sure why anyone felt the need to thank someone for doing what was right, the thought must have danced across her features under his scrutiny. “Something wrong?”

Ivuni tried to consider her words carefully again. “The world is a strange place if someone feels compelled to be thankful for what would be the right thing done. I mean no offense, I just…” 

He smiled. “It was thanks that you would bother to consider taking such action on my account.”

“Considering that you came to the Inquisition under your own volition, it would just be wrong for anyone to hold what you are against you.” She tried. “But I guess, if it weren’t for the mark, they would see me as little more than some dismissible wild elf.” She tried not to frown. “I’m not defending my thought very well.”

“Well enough.” He assured her. “It has been a long day of travel and you managed to close three rifts, you must be exhausted.” 

She was, though she often appreciated a chance to stare up at the stars before turning in for the night. At the thought, her gaze shifted reluctantly away from the man beside her and towards the sky. 

“Do you know the constellations?” He asked.

She smiled and it bled into her voice. “I know the Dalish constellations.” Lifting her right hand from her side, she pointed directly above them. “There is the great bear.” Then she pointed somewhat above them, just right of where they sat. “That is the dragon, dancing above everyone. Beside her is the wolf.” She moved her hand to indicate the next cluster.

“Beside ‘her’?” He interrupted. “You believe the dragon is female?”

Ivuni paused and considered the question as well as her identification of the given constellation. “I suppose it could be a ‘him’.” Then she shook her head. “No, I’m sure it’s meant to be a ‘her’.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Women are fire, passion, and sharp teeth.” 

“And you do not feel that men are that way?” He frowned, almost disappointed. “You have had poor examples.”

“Fine, fair enough. It can be a ‘him’ tonight.” She looked at him and waited to see if he would interject further. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and seemed to wait for her to continue. “Anyway...” she lifted her brows to offer him the opportunity to pursue his argument further. “Next to the dragon is the wolf. Ask any Keeper and they’ll tell you it’s Fen’Harel staring down at the world, watching with feigned interest and –”

“Feigned interest? Fen’Harel does not look upon the world with valid interest?”

“Are you going to keep interrupting?”

He lifted a hand up in apology, a move he intended to convey that he would yield. At least she hoped he would yield, because if he was going to balk at each description, they were going to be out here all night, and she wanted to seek out some sliver of sleep and some point before dawn. Ivuni cleared her throat. “ _Anyway_ , Deshanna says she thinks he’s chasing after the cluster beside him.”

“And that would be?”

It was up to interpretation if she were being honest with how she thought about it as there seemed to be a few rather solid opinions on the matter. And who was to say anyone else was wrong? “Well, Deshanna thinks it’s a rose, but I don’t know why a wolf would chase a rose.” Wolves chased each other or prey. “If you turn almost upside down,” she shifted up onto her knees and turned her head about a hundred and fifty degrees in an attempt to look at the constellation upside down, “and account for those three stars there, it could maybe be a halla.” She said, pointing to the extra stars. “But maybe he’s chasing another wolf, or a fox, or anything else.”

He didn’t interrupt her any further, simply sat back in silence and let her describe what the Dalish claimed to see in the sky. The hunter, the hawk, the griffon, and so on until they had mapped the visible sky overhead. She explained each one the way a traveler would discern his tales, the way a woman would tell a story to her child. That was how Keepers spoke of the sky, charting their history little by little with each designated figure that the stars supposedly represented. A few Keepers clung to the idea that the constellations were almost literally the gods, a reflection of them sealed into the sky following The Dread Wolf’s betrayal. Then she would ask why Fen’Harel was counted amongst them if he had not been imprisoned and had instead been the jailer. There were varied answers.

“You see all of this when you look up at the night sky?” He finally asked when she resettled back onto the grass, sitting her weight onto her left hip, somewhat facing him more directly than she had been when he had originally sat down with her. 

“I see a lot of stars.” She confessed with a smile. “I think what is actually perceived it up to the observer. Which is why the cluster the wolf chases takes on a different guise depending on who you ask.” Her attention once more swept back up to the sky. “Still, it is beautiful. A million dots of light punctured through the ebony sky, giving this world glimmers of hope in the darkness.”

“How poetic.”

“If you wish.” When she had been small and the clan children were still raw with their words and acceptance of her, Deshanna would sit her out beneath the stars and tell her each and every story until she fell asleep. There was a comfort in the fables, in the sound of Deshanna’s voice that she had often found herself searching for each time they set up camp these last weeks. She felt like that little girl again, so out of place and struggling to fit in, and each of her companions seemed to struggle with the right words to offer her. “Can you see the stars in the Fade?”

When she looked at him again, he was already looking back at her. “You have not ever noticed?”

She arched a brow. “I don’t remember the finer details of a lot of my dreams, and the one time I was in the Fade physically, I was sort of running for my life. Not the best opportunity to look up for any stars.”

He chuckled then. “I suppose not.” It was an interesting sound, likely because he rarely laughed, but she was starting to understand why Varric referred to him as Chuckles. And she wanted to hear more of it. “If you don’t remember that part of your dreams, why do you want to know what I see?”

“I’d like to more about you, Solas.”

His neutral mask slid back into place and she wondered if it was reflex. “Why?”

Did it really seem weird that she would want to know more about someone that she travelled with and slept next to at night when they made camp? “You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition.”

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way.” He sighed. 

“It speaks of your character.” She offered. “I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas. I just want to know more about you.” She wondered if she had reached for too much. She had had him with discussing the stars, perhaps she should have been grateful for that for the time being. Curiosity killed the cat, so the elders always said. She wasn’t sure why they opted for a cat. “If you don’t want to tell me about –”

“I’m sorry. With so much fear in the air…” he trailed off and looked down at his knees briefly, then out towards the small river ahead of them. “What would you know of me?”

For a moment she felt like a stunned halla unsure whether or not she should turn and run or stay and lower her antlers to fight. “You‘ve said you travelled to many different places.” Perfect execution.

He gave a single nod of his head. “This world, or its memory, is reflected in the Fade.” She knew that, but kept her mouth shut as he continued. “Dream in ancient ruins and you may see a city lost to history. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure hunters.” He settled back against the tree and looked her way, but he fixated on her bare foot. Were it anyone else looking at that part of her body, she would have prepared to be scolded for not wearing socks or shoes in the ‘chilled night air’.

“The best are the battlefields.” His voice picked up, a measure of wonder put forth. 

“Any place in particular?”

He looked up at her again and she finally recognized the look he offered for what it was; curiosity. Though whether it was curiosity that she asked about a battlefield or pursued the topic when it could have been left, or both, she wasn’t quite sure yet. “I dreamt at Ostagar. I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Fereldan warriors. I saw Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan light the signal fire…” She silently willed him to continue, like she often did with him. “And Loghain’s infamous betrayal of Cailean’s forces.”

Ivuni couldn’t help but smile at him again, grateful that he hadn’t recoiled when pressed. “I’ve heard the stories.” A decade’s worth of truth marbled with legend and tall tales. “It would be interesting to hear what it was really like.”

“That’s just it. In the Fade I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of warriors. One moment, I see heroic wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailean fall.” He paused as though to let his words sink in and she readily accepted the first option he had presented, well aware he was ready to offer a counter of sorts. “The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

She had always heard the former version. “And you can’t tell which is real?”

“It is the Fade. They are all real.”

She had never thought of the other side of the coin. She had always been told that it was Loghain who betrayed the king, that he had pulled his troops and left Cailean to die. But if Solas claimed he had experienced the reflections of emotions that constructed the second perception he had offered…there had to be some truth in that. Wasn’t that how the Fade worked? How was anyone to ever know what the truth actually was when they traversed the Fade? Ivuni sighed. Perhaps that was the point. Accept all sides and merit out a judgement of your own that way. “Thank you.” She said as she pushed herself to her feet.

“For what?”

“For sharing a part of yourself with me.” She tipped her head, another acknowledgement of her thanks to him before turning on her heel and heading back into camp. She only half expected for him to say something as she retreated, but only silence followed her.

It didn’t take her long to meander through the cluster of tents to hers, theirs. Everyone else had turned in and the fire at the middle of the circle was little more than embers that she kicked dirt over to stifle any potential flames that could rekindle. 

She pushed the flap of their tent back and crawled towards her bedroll. Her fatigue was finally catching her up and she was grateful to press her face into the waiting pillow. She had taken to the simple human luxury rather quickly, intent on taking it back with her to her clan to push on everyone. Her hand reached blindly for her blanket as she curled onto her left side and drew the item up over her otherwise light linen clad self and let the covering settle at her hip.

Sleep lingered on the edge of her waking thoughts as she tried to catalogue the information the elven apostate had offered her, finally. She let it all unfurl once more in her mind deciding that she found his perception of the Fade fascinating and resigned herself to pay better attention once it claimed her. Perhaps at some point she would be able to grasp at the remnants of her dreams and drag them with her back to the waking world.

Caught on the fringes of falling under, she heard footsteps enter the shared tent. She listened to him quietly set his things aside and then he arranged himself down into his own roll. When he seemed to settle, and his body heat gently permeated the air, she gave in. She let sleep pull her far into its depths and tried to hold onto the thought of stars overhead.


	4. Chapter 4

Her hand went briefly and discreetly to the short stalk of wood protruding half a finger length from her left thigh, somewhat below her hip. She had managed to break the arrow shaft off before the portal had consumed them and spat them back out in Redcliffe Castle. She had managed the fight against Alexius just as well as she would have without it, but she was good at hiding her injuries. Shifting, she adjusted the belts at her waist as she moved towards the scouts circling Alexius. She positioned a pouch just so that it sat in front of the small protrusion, and up against it enough to hide it from seeking eyes.

“Take him into custody and keep his magic dispelled.” She quipped before turning towards the doorway, her intent was reaching Cassandra to plan their return trip out of Redcliffe, Mages in their number or not. She wanted to be as far away from this village as possible. 

“Do what you will.” Alexius groaned. “It matters not what–”

“It all matters.” Ivuni snapped back, her anger rising. “Everything matters, every person matters. I have seen the future your actions would wrought!” She bit her lip in an attempt to reign her emotions. Sure, Felix had survived into that world, but he had appeared little more than a ghost inhabiting a human shell, as if death might have better suited him. She took a calculated step forward, putting her within arm’s reach of the magister. “If it were within my power in this moment, you would be tranquil.” Her voice was laced with a daring edge and she almost willed him to argue.

When he offered nothing further and instead hung his head in defeat, Ivuni took a step back, noting Dorian moving towards her in her periphery as Alexius was marched away with his son unbound and willingly cooperative by his side.

“Well,” Dorian sighed, “I’m glad that’s over with.” Yet oddly on cue, soldiers garbed in armor not belonging to the Inquisition marched single file into the castle on either side of them, lining the main walkway and arranging themselves just so as if their motions had been carefully orchestrated through practice hundreds of times. “Or not.”

Her ears twitched at the sound of a new set of footsteps making their way towards them, or more precisely, towards Fiona. There wasn’t necessarily fury in his features, if she were being honest about what she saw, she would think it more akin to disappointment. “Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn you had given Redcliffe castle away to a Tevinter Magister.” Given the way he carried himself, the manner in which he spoke, and the flanking guards, she surmised the individual to be King Alistair. “Especially since I am fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.” 

Fiona shuffled forward through the guards, almost a mouse pushing through a cluster of cats waiting to pounce. “Your Majesty, we never intended…”

“I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible.” For a moment it appeared the King seemed troubled by that fact. There had been a genuine desire to lend his assistance, an unusual trait in a ruler in the current age to feel so compassionate towards Mages, yet the Warden had been a Mage, if she recalled properly. And Alistair had stood at the Warden’s side. “You and your followers are no longer welcome in Fereldan.” 

There had once been a circle in Fereldan, half a dozen in fact within days’ rides. Each guarded by Templars. It was unsettling to think that this kingdom and all its people were strangely content with Mages when they were bound up behind walls and guards, but troubled by their existence when they sought to govern themselves. It was true that magic had brought them to where they presently were, but what did one expect when a people chose to lock another people up in beautiful prisons and then suddenly freedom was garnered?

Still, Fiona had been foolish, thinking she could for some reason trust a Tevinter Magister to help better her people. What sort of desperation had even driven her to such a concept? She was elven, of all things. Dorian shifted slightly in her periphery and she caught her thoughts as they threatened to run astray. Dorian was Tevene, yet so far, had proven useful. She had placed her trust in him for the moment; yet she hadn’t sought him out, he had come to them in hopes of stopping Alexius. Ivuni sighed, realizing if she let her mental train run amuck, it would take her down a dozen paths.

“But…we have hundreds who need protecting! Where will we go?” The Enchanter pleaded.

Ivuni stepped herself forward, unsure if she was supposed to bow or curtsy, or prostrate herself in some other manner before the royal human. Then her Dalish pride kicked in and she straightened her back all the more. Never would she submit. “I should point out that we did come here for Mages to close the breach.” Which was true. She had thought they would need to convince them, now she realized, it was them who would have to convince the Inquisition on terms of service. That made her uncomfortable again, to imagine a people _in service_. Any people.

Fiona took a moment to gather herself, her dark eyes searching the hard blue that stared back at her. She was pondering the course she would have to argue or plead for. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?” 

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?” Dorian cut in, helpful, she would give him that.

“I’ve known a lot of Mages.” Varric’s voice suddenly drew her attention away from the dark eyed enchanter. “They can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions, but still. Loyal.” She knew that he spoke of the Mage that had been dually bound to that spirit he sometimes spoke of. He said Anders had been kind, even if crazy.

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.” It was the truth, she realized, however unnerving it seemed, and the Enchanter stared at her awaiting reply.

It fell to her to choose. Not to Cullen, or Leliana, or Josephine. Not to Bull, Varric, or Solas, each of whom stood within that very room and thus far, only the dwarf had offered a subtle opinion. Fiona was looking at her. If she looked to Alastair, he was likely awaiting her response as well. How had she gotten here? How had one Dalish elf ever ended up in a situation where the fate of so many sat on her shoulders? It was… “We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.” She let it tumble from her lips because if she thought too long, she would likely end up tripping over her words.

“A generous offer.” Fiona tipped her head. “But will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?” 

The question was fair, there were a number amongst the Inquisition’s forces already that either were or still thought themselves as Templars. Including Cullen, but he was one person. One person who claimed to want what was best for the whole of Thedas. “The breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now.” That was simply the truth of the matter. “We can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

“I’d take that offer if I were you. One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.” King Alistair added, a nudging reminder that Fiona had to make a decision regardless.

She watched the Grand Enchanter give a few nods of her head. “We accept. It would be madness not to.” Dark eyes looked into her own, and she realized that she hadn’t noticed that Fiona was a few finger widths taller than she was. “I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven.” And then she excused herself with a bow in Alistair’s direction and a tip of her head for the rest of those present.

“Are you sure that you know what you are doing?” Alistair’s voice drew on her attention and she turned back towards Fereldan’s king.

She considered her answer before she gave it, though it was simple. “I’m trying to seal the Breach.” Ivuni swallowed as she grasped further. “If I am being honest, I am _hoping_ that I know what I am doing. I have accepted the counsel of my advisors and those that I consider close to me.” The three present and much of Cassandra’s input to boot. “What would you do?”

Alistair shifted and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes shifted towards the ceiling above briefly as he appeared to consider the question, then he shrugged. “I think you’re doing what you feel is best and that is what I would hope to do in your place.” He offered her a warm smile then and she was caught off guard by the sincerity. “You have my aid should you need it.” Then he shifted again and folded his hands behind his back. “Please send a request if you require anything. I will attempt to assist you the best that I can. You are right in that this affects all of Thedas and we all need to cooperate.”

With that, he stepped towards her and offered a nod of his head before moving towards the double doors that would let him free of the castle. It was interesting to watch the guards file after him, carefully arranging themselves around him without outright overwhelming him with their presence. It was something like a well-choreographed dance and she wondered if he deviated from the correct steps if his retinue would adjust accordingly, or if they would fall into disarray. Then she wondered if they ever left him alone and the idea of being royalty seemed exceedingly awful in that moment.

 

“I am not keen on the idea of staying here.” She confessed.

“That is understandable.” The other woman replied. “There was a decent campsite outside the confines of the village if that is more suitable.”

Ivuni gave a few nods of her head. “I personally would find it so, but that doesn’t mean everyone else should feel compelled to follow suit.”

Cassandra waved her had briefly. “I do not believe that anyone else would find the matter worth debating. It is simply a location to rest and making camp is becoming a regular occurrence.” Her left hand briefly gripped the pommel of her sword. 

“Do you think I made the right choice here?” Ivuni asked, her voice dipping.

“I feel you acted in accordance with what you believe is the right thing to do and I will not argue that matter with you. We pushed this into your hands and you made a decision.” She replied. “Am I elated by the thought of the Mages as allies?” Cassandra sighed and briefly cast her eyes aside. “I am not yet sure.”

At least she wasn’t lying to her face. “I appreciate your honesty, Cassandra, and well as your counsel.”

The Seeker regarded her for a moment as though she were unsure how to accept a compliment. “I would give you nothing other than what I perceive to be my own truth.”

“Thank you.” She offered the other woman an appreciative smile and a nod. 

For a long handful of moments, neither of them spoke. Cassandra seemed to study her as if she didn’t quite understand what she was suddenly and Ivuni remained put, unwilling to run from the scrutiny. “I will speak with Fiona about starting the Mages on their journey to Haven.”

The other woman moved to step away and Ivuni was ready to let her until an idea hit her. “Cassandra?” She stepped briefly into the other woman’s path. “Do you have a sewing kit?” When the brunette lifted her brows questioning, Ivuni cleared her throat. “I was looking to re-stitch my satchel as I think I caught it on something in that other place.”

“In my green pack.” The Seeker replied. “I will leave it near the fire at camp.”

 

Her hands made quick work of the closures that held the fine mail leggings at her waist, allowing the weight to give before she carefully peeled it downward and even more carefully slipped it over the small remainder of the arrow’s broken shaft before forcing herself to relax. But even trying to order her muscles to relax and give agitated the arrow head that still sat lodged deep in place. 

She had opted for a clearing some hundred paces away from their campsite to keep Sera from prattling on and distracting her, and to keep Bull from ogling the blood and offering to just yank the item free. It also allowed her to mull her thoughts surrounding the future that had been proposed by Alexius’s twisted time magic.

She drew the short knife from the belt she had discarded and looked down at the wound in her leg. It looked a lot worse now that she had removed the drakestone mail. The most recent choice of metal used to rework the rings and links had proven beneficial for the time being as it had seemingly kept any outright perception of blood from being noticed by anyone else. At least, no one else had commented. If anyone would have taken note, surely it would have been Bull, and he had not yet joined back up with their party.

It would be easy if it was someone else’s leg, she would simply sit on them and work the offending piece out with the blade currently in her hand. The fact that it was her own injury gave her pause. It was going to hurt and she was mentally preparing herself to work through it even if it became blinding. She couldn’t leave it in to fester, that would only put her in a far worse position that would lead to them falling behind on their return to Haven. 

Shifting, she rolled her head from side to side before lifting the wineskin to her mouth, pulled the stopper with her teeth, let it fall to the ground and proceeded to gulp down a generous mouthful of mulled red in an attempt to number her mind. She placed her right hand against her hip to stabilize the skin and set the blade tip against the opening. 

“Ivuni.” 

“Fenedhis.” She cursed in response to the sudden presence moving to stand beside her.

The Mage crouched down at her side initially, and without asking any sort of permission, his hand set against her thigh as he pushed her somewhat further onto her right hip to get a better look. “Give me the blade.” He instructed as he held his right hand out towards her. When she hesitated, he lifted his gaze to meet hers, holding her stare as if he dared her to resist. Then she slid the hilt of the knife against his waiting palm. “Did you truly think you were hiding it?”

Ivuni shrugged. “No one said anything.” She had made sure to break the shaft as close to her leg as possible, and had honestly been impressed she had managed to get it as short as she had. No one had noticed, at least, she had thought that no one had as no comment had been offered. 

“That doesn’t mean it went unnoticed.”

“So what, everyone drew straws to see who would come scold me?” She smirked until his grip tightened, pushing slightly against her thigh again, drawing a disapproving grunt from her. “And you drew the short straw?”

Solas looked back up at her again. “No one else pays as much attention to detail.” For a moment, his eyes seemed to trail the branches under her right eye, then he dropped his focus back to her leg and pressed once more against her thigh. “Roll all the way over onto your right side.”

Sucking in a breath, she did as instructed without quarrel. She shifted herself to get as comfortable as possible, supporting her upper body weight on her right forearm as her pulse picked up, anticipation getting the better of her. His fingers prodded at the site and she realized by the exceedingly careful pressure he placed, he was trying to gauge the depth, the precise placement of the tip and its shoulders beneath her skin. Ivuni exhaled and she tried to force herself to relax. The sudden warmth at her leg drew her curiosity, however, she kept her eyes fixed dead ahead of her on a cluster of elfroot as the tip of the knife pressed against the bloody mess. 

“This should have been tended to sooner.” He chided, quietly. “I waited for you to bring it up all evening.”

“I was a bit distracted.” She confessed, honesty thick in her voice. Between making preparation plans to head back to Haven with hundreds of Mages in tow, arguing against staying within Redcliffe proper, assuring Alexius was securely bound, and rolling the dark future about in her mind, she had very easily been rather distracted since the portal had spit her and Dorian back out. Dorian seemed a valuable ally even if he was from Tevinter, that fact still rubbed her in numerous wrong ways, regardless of his charm. Still, he had earned the opportunity to bear her trust for the time being.

Leliana’s mutilated body and the red lyrium corrupted forms of three of her closer peers pressed up against her mind’s eye each time she considered letting her guard drop, each time she let her eyes slip shut for longer than it took for her to blink. That she hadn’t happened upon anyone else familiar to her in those dungeons hadn’t slipped her mind, she simply did not want to acknowledge their absences. It made her sick to consider the possibilities even when they were all well and whole here in the present. The thought prompted her to look over herself at Solas who was fixated on the task at hand, though seeming to sense the weight of her gaze on him, briefly looked up at her and his gray-blue eyes settled her concern for the moment.

“What did you see while you were there?” The question was so open she could have formulated a dozen responses, but he wanted to know about where the portal had taken them. Knowing what she knew of him, the question was posed to gain knowledge, not necessarily to distract her as the blade bit deeper. Or perhaps it was meant to accomplish both.

“The future.” Then she corrected herself. “ _A_ future.” Because that was what it was, not necessarily a guarantee. No matter how real it had been. She kept her focus on him. “The Fade was bleeding through obscure pockets, warping the whole world. It was…strange.” Not how the Fade seemed in sleep. “Almost as if it were aggressively trying to swallow everything and everyone.” She frowned at the thought because that almost gave the Fade a sentient quality. “Red lyrium grew everywhere in the crumbling castle, out of the walls, the floor, through people.” Ivuni bit her lower lip as he gave a light tug on the arrow shaft, though not yet satisfied. “Bull and Varric were there, their skin buzzing with corrupted magic, dark circles under their eyes, blotchy bruises in different stages of healing.” She hissed when the blade bit further downward. “You were there.” Like they had all been tortured.

The arrow was plucked free deliberately and clean before he set the knife into the grass and pressed his bare palm against the wound. “And what was I doing?”

She swallowed as she drew the vision of him forward. Eyes red, the same red spreading through his veins, his look hard when he stared at her through the cell bars. Next to Leliana, he had been the most pressing for them to return to the present to unmake that world. “Dying.” She whispered. Warmth filled his hand where it sat against her and she felt the familiar ache of healing magic slowly knitting her back together from the inside out. “You were all dying.” It took a great deal of control to not completely shake at the memory of their last exchanges, the sounds of fighting and then the absence of their familiar voices following shrieks for them to ‘go’. “You _did_ die.”

Her brows buckled as she frowned, forcing herself to remember the way they looked, the sounds of their voices, the shock they each possessed when she arrived at each of their cells. They had thought her dead and it had made her wonder if they had actually watched her die, or if they had assumed it when she had vanished, caught up in a rip in time like being caught in a Fade rift. Varric claimed to have seen her, but she wondered what exactly the dwarf had actually seen. Solas had stared at her as though he had felt compelled to reach forward to be sure she wouldn’t turn to smoke and vanish.

His free hand gripped her jaw and turned her face back upward to look at him once more. “I am right here and I am fine.” He assured her. “Iron Bull and Varric are alive and fine as well.”

“It could still happen.” She breathed, and when she inhaled, the effort shook her. “Maybe not with Alexius because I’m going to…I don’t know yet.” Ivuni shook her head. “But any other of Corypheus’ lackeys could tap into something like that. You could all die all over again.”

He released her jaw and let his hand slide further back, his fingers brushing into the hair near the nape of her neck and his thumb stopping shy of skimming the lobe of her ear. “Any one of us could die at any given time. That is simply the fate of anything living.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be, it is simply the truth.” He said as he drew his hand back out of her hair and away from her face. He chanced a glance at his other hand at her thigh, but left it where it sat, the warmth still pulsing through her skin and tissue. “You need to inform one of us the next time that you are injured.”

“I had planned to clean it out and stitch it back together.” Though she hadn’t planned exactly on how she would stem the blood flow if she had nicked anything while working the arrowhead out of herself, likely she’d have had to press a heated spoon or blade against it. 

“That would allow for healing that is slower than necessary or warranted.” He replied without missing a beat. 

No matter her approach, she knew that she was not going to win the current argument. Solas seemed to possess answers in spades. His hand still pressed firm against her and the magic still threading her back together, she took the moment for what it was; an opportunity to learn more. “What made you start studying the Fade?” 

He looked at her again and took a moment to stare at her, her inquiry was genuine so that was what she knew he was going to find as he studied her. Solas exhaled and briefly let his eyes fall away from her. “I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic.” Those two sentences poked at her curiosity and she struggled to keep from interjecting further questions. “But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I have never imagined. I treasured my dreams.” He passed to look beneath his now bloodied hand, then pressed it back into place and his magic took hold once more. “Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.” 

“Did spirits try to tempt you?” Of everything she wanted to ask, she wasn’t sure that was the one she wanted to present first, but it was the one that slipped from her brain to her lips.

“No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it.” He confessed, and she smiled at the proposed imagery. “I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness.” Like a Dreamer, she realized. “There was so much that I wanted to explore.”

But Dreamers… “I gather you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming.”

“No, eventually I was unable to find new areas of the Fade.”

“Why?”

His eyes narrowed at her again as if he were trying to uncover some hidden agenda she kept out of his reach. “Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it.” He explained. “Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.”

Her mouth shifted into a lopsided smirk. “Is that why you joined the inquisition?” To find interesting places and people? 

“I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger.” He corrected and she struggled not to roll her eyes even as her smile broadened. “If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming in the Fade.”

“Oh, of course.” She said, because that was what was important, even still, her features slowly sobered. “I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.” He replied and she once more found herself wondering why he was thankful for her voicing her opinion. “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?”

The magic in her leg ebbed and Solas drew his hand away, shifting his pack off of his back and untied the cinch strings. “You train to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target.” He drew a folded gray scrap of cloth from his bag. “The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit.” Her brows inched upward in curiosity but he didn’t look up at her, instead he set to wiping the blood away from her leg. He fished a water flask out and wet the cloth to clean her up further. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

Ivuni couldn’t help the smile when it returned. “So you’re suggesting I’m graceful?”

“No. I am declaring it.” Then he looked at her. “It was not a subject for debate.”

“Hmm.”

Instead of inquiring further, she allowed herself to appreciate the comment, then turned her focus up towards the sky. The darkening magenta at the horizon where the sun had slipped away into some time ago allowed the rest of the sky to come alive in the dark.

“What is the wolf chasing tonight?”

She glanced at him and he was looking at her, his face an unreadable neutrality as he waited for her to reply. But she wondered what he was hoping that she would say. She had already told him that she believed perception of the stars was up to the observer, that whatever the wolf chased varied on who you asked. 

It was a struggle not to roll her eyes even as her lips tugged into a simple smile as she looked back up at the sky. She tipped her head slightly sideways, yet given her current position and unable to move much at the moment due to his still firm grip on her leg, she sighed before she glanced back at him once more. “Tonight it can be the rose since I can’t turn my head very far. All beautiful petals and sharp thorns.”

That future had force fed her a taste of death, and more than just the deaths of people she didn’t know. She knew them, she spoke with them daily, made efforts to learn about them, counted them amongst her peers and perhaps considered them _friends_.


	5. Chapter 5

There had always been a chill to Haven that she thought she would never be free of, but being caught within the confines of the little constructed town had nothing on wandering through the blustering of an overbearing blizzard. It was as though the mountain were seeking retribution for scorching its surface with fire, steel, and magic, for baiting a possessed dragon to its peaks. She had thought the underground passageways to be damp and chilled, but the moment she had stepped out onto the frost laden pilgrimage road, she had found herself longing for the safe cold that Haven had offered. There had been walls there, meant to keep back the biting winter. Never had she thought she would have ever longed for the safety of walls.

Her feet sifted and sunk through unassuming white depths, at times assaulting her bare toes with upturned stones and the occasional long buried thorns. She could all but hear Blackwall’s voice scolding her and insisting she put on boots.

Within the first few moments of crossing the invisible line between the territory of Haven and the wild mountainside, she had considered turning back about a half dozen times. Her skin prickled, her muscles shivered, and she had to press her teeth together to keep them from chattering. And that had only been the beginning,;that had been before the chill solidified the first traces of tears against the corners of her eyes. There was nothing to offer her any measure of shelter against the onslaught once she stepped into wild terrain.

The first sign of life, a gathering of charred twigs and a discarded pot had been the only indication that anyone from Haven had passed through the canyon. The lack of heat from either source, and the nonexistent footprints away from the makeshift camp, cued her to wonder how long she had laid unconscious beneath the chantry after forcing Corypheus and his demon dragon away. She couldn’t even remember the moment she had hit the ground after she had tumbled through the dark. It could have been minutes, hours, or days if she let herself consider the current toppled remnants of an abandoned camp.

The Inquisition could be long gone from the mountains. They could be tucked away somewhere safe, healers patching the wounded. Roderick might be–

A wolf howled somewhat ahead of her, north and slightly east, prompting her to glance about herself. One wolf always sounded to its party members when it sighted considerable prey. Her muscles tensed and her fingers immediately sought arrows at her back that were nonexistent. She had lost her quiver somewhere along the way and had only managed to find her bow in the cavern. A tired bow and a pair of short knives could help her against a single wolf, but likely would fail her if faced with an entire pack. If she could get her dislocated arm to work.

Her breath clouded and almost crystalized before her and she forced her senses into high gear even as her body fought the urge to shiver. She forced her ears to listen, forced her eyes to find any shred of movement…but nothing ever shifted towards her save the constantly blowing snow. 

Ivuni forced herself to continue on, then, her good hand seeking the lapels of her jacket and tugging them together in an attempt to keep as much of the cold from reaching her chest, managing to hook one toggle haphazardly. She tried to lift her useless left arm from her side to cooperate, but the motion sent a shockwave of pain across her chest and she abandoned the attempt. Instead, she slipped her hood back up onto her head and tucked her scarf about her face, before messing with the buttons and loops of her jacket once more with one hand. She was somewhat successful.

It was endless, and without a break in the perpetual sight of snow and the constant blowing of flakes against her eyelashes, it was difficult to distinguish if she were moving forward along the path or if she were detouring, or even winding in circles. It was impossible to be sure and exhaustion was constantly fighting to draw her across the waking world and into the Fade. She wondered if she laid down and gave into it, if anyone would find her there before her spirit fluttered away into the Beyond. 

The wolf howled again, once more to the north and slightly to the east. She paused and huffed a few breaths, briefly glanced about herself and then moved in the direction the creature had called from. For a moment, she wondered if it was her wolf from Haven leading her through the bitterness. It was a slightly romantic notion, but she had little else to grasp at.

The further she trekked, the deeper the snow became, sucking at her ankles and calves, forcing her to put more effort into her steps. Perhaps one step would sink her through into some secret underground haven that would offer her warmth, something to eat and a warm mug of mulled cider. Ivuni shook the fantasy from her mind, realizing her feet had paused as her imagination sought some magical little sanctuary that did not exist. 

Beside her the remnants of another camp fire, and she fought the urge to laugh when she thought she made out the faintest trace of embers dying. It was like making out the sight of a beautiful pool when caught lost in the shifting sands of the Hissing Wastes. Her clan had rarely ever travelled even to the outskirts of the desert, as there was little for them to gain passing through or much even around it save the potential to finding a specific spice trader on its fringes. That man was always reclusive and happening upon him was as likely as finding a rose there. But other clans would swap stories about getting lost in the wastes and the things the mind created in its delirium.

Lifting her right hand, she tried to tuck the scarf more securely about her face; she couldn’t feel her cheeks and she fought the urge to crouch down next to a snow bank. If she stopped for just a few moments, she could recoup a small measure of her strength and will. Yet, a voice in the back of her mind warned that if she stopped and knelt for even a breath, she may choose to remain until the storm passed, and that could be days away. And she could very easily be dead by the time the sun returned to this part of the mountain range. She needed to focus.

Varric was a dwarf, he was funny and liked to give everyone names. He had given her one and she didn’t hate it. He was a writer and she still had not discovered his book. She still needed to find it to determine on her own what kind of writer that he was without taking him for the opinion of others.

Cassandra was human. She was fierce in her faith, fierce in her dedication. She was the type of person one wanted at their back when faced with a horde of corrupted demons. She was stubborn and honest to a fault, sometimes offensively so, but she rarely ever lied or omitted truth. That was what she was, though, a Seeker of Truth, constantly searching for…

Solas was an elven Mage who loved the Fade and looked at the world with a set of eyes that saw everything startling different from everyone else. He knew spirits for what they were, and knew demons for what they were meant to be. Magic was magic, it depended upon how it was used. A tool, a way of life, a gift. It was not meant to be caged or squandered without care.

Ivuni shifted, pushing further as she continued on with her list. Perhaps she wouldn’t make it, perhaps she would never see any of them again. They would all carry on without her, seek out other means to tie back the sky, tear Corypheus down from his arrogant high horse, well, high dragon. They would continue on, purge Thedas of its newest threat. They would be victorious, the heroes of their age. Their lives would be filled with gratitude from the people, and they would never want for anything. They had earned that and more already.

Focus.

Sera was an elf with an amazing targeting aim, she could hit anything with enough attention to detail and patience. She had beaten her in the Hinterlands, but there had been a moment when she had feared Sera would have outshot her. When she had tried to waiver at the last target, she had been afraid they would have to give up the search for Solas’s artifact to trek all the way back to Haven. She wanted to shoot against her again. 

Bull the Qunari that…

Dorian was a Mage from Tevinter…

Once more, the wolf howled and drew her focus and her direction, guiding her through the blinding snow and the bitter chill. It felt as though it was trying to sink into her bones and turn her blood itself to ice. 

The faintest scent of burning cedar had her eyes sliding shut in an attempt to chase after the dream that butted up against her consciousness. It was there if she would just give in, slip into the Fade and try to mold it about herself into a Dalish campsite. Perhaps she could even draw the image of Deshanna forward to lull her to sleep. But instead of her Keeper’s voice reaching out to her, the war commander’s met her ears instead. But she hadn’t imagined Cullen. Perhaps the spirits were simply responding to her more recent memories. 

A hand slid across her shoulders and her legs failed her in that moment, shuddering and collapsing into a pair of arms that swept her up. She was weightless then, suddenly encased in warmth and she found that she was okay with death if it was warm and inviting. Dark spots flecked the edges of her sight and a new embrace pulled her under into an unconscious escape.

 

The fingertips of her left hand trailed the silken gauze of the edge of the split in her skirt. It shifted gently against her skin, whispering against her exposed thigh with each step. It fluttered about her. It was a simple fabric, but it was also her favorite. Her bare feet were all but silent against the beautiful floor and her right hand reached out to gently trail the paintings that were dotted with precious jewels. She wanted to stay there, stand before them and lose herself in their simple beauty were it not for her desire to reacquaint with the city streets waiting outside, she would have gladly spent hours just taking them in.

Only a scarce handful of people moved by her, the hour too late for most to seek to offer prayer or offerings. Most took no notice of her presence save a single priestess who nearly collided with her due to her silent footsteps. There had been a moment of panic in her eyes before she had offered the woman a smile and a gentle measure of reassurance. Apologies were still offered as the other woman slunk away from her.

She moved towards the prayer room that would allow her freedom and the scent of endalwood caressed her senses. Then a shadowy figure moved into her path and made its way towards her, its voice reaching out to her for engagement. She felt herself drawn towards him, her lips parting to speak.

A hand sought hers and braided its fingers with her own, drawing her suddenly away from meeting the figure moving towards her and she watched it turn to smoke, its voice little more than an echo that bled into nothing. The firm hand tangled with hers drew her away, drew her towards the door she had been focused on reaching. The door pulled open of its own accord and she was let out onto a beautiful obsidian road that glittered beneath the moonlight. 

Snow fluttered against her cheeks, pushing a subtle chill into her skin.

Then the world split and she huffed in a sharp painful gasp as the Fade fell away. The sudden breath inward burned its way through her lungs as though she hadn’t used them in days and her body had to relearn how to. She was turned onto her right side and there was a weight against her left, hands drawing at her arm. Sera’s voice cut through the murmurs around her, angry and cursing like a wild thing. Her back was pushed forward and a hot spark of pain shot the length of her spine. Then there was a sudden wash of agony that flared from her palm, her skin splitting and lightening snapping before a deep popping sensation corrected the displacement in her shoulder. Then she was carefully returned to her back.

Her breaths left her ragged, the fingers of her right hand twitched as her forearm tried to lift, wanting to curl towards her left side. When she tried to open her eyes, she was met with a blurred array of dark smears of color peppered with flickering light. When she tried to move, the world tipped on its side and she swallowed, hard, in an attempt to keep herself from being sick. Words were spoken somewhat near her and Sera’s angry voice snapped back at them.

Ivuni tried to roll her body off of her back, but the attempt only seemed to prompt the world to tip wildly out of control once more. Carefully, she closed her eyes again and drew in a slow shaking breath in an attempt to temper her racing heart. 

Warmth touched her left shoulder, driving the incessant ache away and tempering the jagged storm that sparked and danced in her palm. She pressed her teeth together and rather than trying to roll about or move much further, she simply turned he head carefully to the right, making out the blurred form of a pale head atop a lot of green. Fingertips brushed her jaw and heat spread there as well, seeking to sink beyond her skin and into her bones. “Sleep, lethallan.” He whispered gently, but rather than heeding his advice, she stared at him a long while as her sight slowly sharpened. When she could make him out almost as clear as day, he was staring at her shoulder, his fingers slowly traced the length of her right arm and where he touched, more warmth spread. The ice was thawing from her veins and her bones, responding to the subtle magic sent to chase it away. 

“I’ll dream if I sleep.” She murmured, her voice akin to stones rubbing against one another; dry and rough.

His eyes swept back up to meet hers. “That is generally what happens.”

Ivuni swallowed and blinked slowly. “I keep dreaming the same.” She breathed. “The same thing.”

He tipped his head slightly as he regarded her. “Reliving a memory?”

She swallowed again and ever so slightly shook her head. “It’s not mine.” She watched his brows pinch and his eyes fell away from her own back towards her injured shoulder. He seemed to lose himself and she struggled with wanting to draw him out of the well of thoughts he seemed to slip into. “What is she going on about?” She tried when she could make out the sound of Sera’s voice again.

Solas smirked. “She is giving your advisors her opinion about your current state. It has been colorful, to say the least.” He carefully pressed an open palm to her right side and she inhaled, sharp and biting back a groan. “Three broken ribs.” His voice murmured. 

“This is the second – or third time? – that you’ve put me back together.” The muscles along her chest clenched slightly in response to the sudden spark of his magic refocusing there. “Soon I’ll owe you my first born.” A chuckle slid up the back of her throat, but died quickly when it rattled against her bruised ribcage.

Solas, however, did not seem moved by her attempt at a joke, if anything, his features darkened a shade she had not yet seen him wear. “No one should ever be offered as a form of payment.” He murmured.

Ivuni raised her hand from her side, though her wrist flopped slightly as she tried to move it towards him. It miraculously made decent contact, settling against the side of his face. “It was an attempt at...” She tried, but he wouldn’t look at her, he instead kept his focus on her side, his brow furrowing as he pushed another surge of magic into her. “Ma serranas.”

Solas sighed, but his tension refused to slip. “Sleep, lethallan.” He spoke again and yet another wave of warmth slipped across her form, drawing her down under into the dark where the Fade did not waver, or shift, or change.

 

“Are you sure Droopy Ears knows where he’s going?” Sera grumbled as she drew her cloak tighter about herself. 

Ivuni paused, several steps ahead and turned to look back at her companion who looked about as thrilled with their trek as a wet cat. Beyond Sera, fifty meters back was the closest member of their travelling train. Cassandra moved with purpose, attempting to keep everyone else behind her moving. There had been a healthier step to everyone’s demeanor and pace when the sun had risen, and it seemed the Seeker was eager to keep it. Everyone had changed overnight. They said it was because she had seemed to be miraculously returned to them. First she had stepped out of the Fade, then she had been given back to them when she should have been dead. 

She was not human. She did not believe the way most of these people believed. Andraste did not delver her to them as their salvation. Try as she might to allow herself to be what they wished, it felt like a bitter lie that sat heavy on her shoulders. She was convinced that it had all been chance. Chance that she happened to be an elf, an elf that had picked up an Elven artifact and had not been destroyed by it. Chance that she had been at the Conclave at all, in that regard. What if someone else had happened upon Justinia and had scooped up the orb. What would have happened were the individual in her place a human? Or a Dwarf? Solas had said that– 

“This way.” Solas moved up along her right, prompting her to turn back once more just as Sera was finally catching up with her. “We are getting close.”

“Ugh.” The blonde elf let her head fall back and the hood fell from her brow. “The Veil is freezing here.”

With a sigh, Ivuni compelled herself to move. She tried to stay focused on the task at hand, finding some safe warm place, but her mind kept drawing her back to the discussion she had had with Solas about the orb. It was ‘theirs’, Elven. It was somewhat surprising that it was not of Tevinter, yet at the same time she easily believed it was Elven when it was addressed as such. It baited so many questions about how Crypheus had come to possess such a powerful relic, and how had he ever thought to seek it out? How old was it and who had it belonged to? Or had it been a collective item that had passed hands multiple times? Solas had said they were meant to channel power from their gods. 

A snap of magic from her left hand had her briefly shaking it at her side before she offered it a glare of disapproval. She had thought the mark belonged to the undead Magister they were pitted against, but it was Elven, or possibly a hybrid of power. No, that didn’t seem right. Solas had once told her that magic was simply magic. So did that mean that Elven magic and Tevene magic were the same thing? It seemed…odd to think of it that way. But magic was just there, it wasn’t born from Minrathous, nor had it been forged in Arlathan. It simply existed, like the air they breathed or the rain that fell.

Corypheus had called it ‘The Anchor’, meant to assault the Heavens. But, they were empty, if she was to believe him. There was nothing but the Black City waiting within the confines of the Fade, populated by spirits and demons. It had been beautiful once, until his kind had tainted it. So what was it he was hoping to gain by tearing it asunder? There were no gods waiting to grant or take power, and no power sitting in wait. Yet he had happened upon the orb somehow, somewhere.

He had also said that the mark was permanent. Ivuni felt her insides clench painfully at the thought just in time for the green to spark once more at her palm. She flexed her fingers and even that simple motion sent a rippling ache up the length of her arm to pit itself in her already aching shoulder. The accursed magic that ripped her hand open time and time again, set her blood on fire, was going to remain fixed to her for the rest of her life. Unless there was some magic unknown to the ‘Elder One’ that could pry it from her skin.

A shadow shifted across her and she lifted her eyes upward to find Solas several paces ahead staring back at her once more. Rather than prying or scolding her for falling behind, he beckoned her by lifting his chin. 

“I swear that man doesn’t feel this shite frost.” Sera grumbled beside her.

“Well,” Ivuni shifted and let her head tilt slightly sideways, “he is wearing a nice warm sweater.”

Sera grinned and it sounded in her voice. “Bet you wish you were wearing his nice warm sweater.”

For the first time during the trek through the frozen mountain peaks, she was thankful for the cold that tempered the heat she was sure might have otherwise painted her tan skin a flush of red deeper than her hair. “Uncalled for.” She hummed as she stepped away from the other woman and fought the urge to reach up and cover her ears.

“You call it what you want to call it.”

“There is nothing to call it.” She called back over her shoulder.

“Oi, fancy the curly haired commander, then?” Sera teased further. “I think he likes me enough I could put in a word for you.”

“No, thank you.” Her feet moved a stitch quicker towards Solas at the crest in the snow that he stood atop.

“I think it would make you less crabby!” The blonde called.

She muttered a string of curses in Elven before she sucked in a breath and raised her head, suddenly beside the Apostate. Once more he stared at her curiously and she wondered just how much he had understood of what she had said.

“There.” He pointed just over the slope.

She stepped beyond him, her feet sinking into the snow to the ankle with each step. That was an improvement at least. The shallower the snow got, the easier the path for everyone. The view she was graced with upon reaching the peak, however, took her breath away. It wasn’t some simple safe place to tuck away into, it was a fortress. Stone crafted and paced to form high walls and sky reaching towers. “Oh my gods.” She breathed as she took another few hesitant steps forward, aware of Solas moving into her left periphery field. “How is this even…?” Her voice trailed off.

“Well done, lethallan.” He praised her, quietly.

Ivuni turned to look at him over her shoulder, a subtly smug smile on his face and a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked back at her. For a moment she let herself stare at him because the opportunity allowed for it, and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. An individual placed just so to offer hope and stood a chance to beat back the darkness, or perhaps little more than a wildling fumbling around with a measure of magic she would never understand? The thought made something in her chest hitch and she felt herself frown slightly, let her eyes drift downward before she turned away from him and back towards the waiting keep ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

She sat on the western battlements, her lower legs dangling over the edge. It was a long drop to the ground, but her focus wasn’t on the snow below her, it was internal. Everything was slowly spiraling out of control, out of her control. This was her life and it was being dangled out in front of her the way you hung a root vegetable out in front of a horse to goad it onward. And she kept reaching for it. Her pride, or her compassion…they wouldn’t let her bow out. The fate of all of Thedas hung in the balance and she kept nodding and smiling.

She had thought it would all end with closing the breach in the sky. That she could stitch the gaping green wound back together again and she could go home afterward. Instead, the persistence of an ancient darkspawn Magister forced to her carry on, keep with her comrades, and remain indefinitely bound to the damnable magic in her hand. As hard as she tried to sequester her darker thoughts away in a box in her mind, they constantly whispered out to her that she would never go home.

They were all safe behind these high walls, or she had convinced herself, there was nothing but snow for stretches in every direction. The only hint of wilderness were a few barely living trees in a rundown garden area. Whomever had held this place before them, had all but abandoned it as though they had been snatched out of it right in the middle of life. No trace left in their wake. It was in the glass, the sparse furniture that remained, the wardrobes still filled with dusty clothing. There had been someone here at one time or another, and it made her wonder what had prompted the keep’s abandonment. 

There was magic in the ground, she didn’t need to be a Mage to feel it. It ebbed and flowed, gently, like a bubbling stream. Few other non-magical types seemed to notice, or they didn’t comment on it if they did. If she mentioned it to Solas, he would likely reference her being Elven made her sensitive to magic. Watching the once Templars they had randomly acquired into their folds fall all over themselves when they sensed it was a sight. She had watched Dorian spin about a few times, his eyes searching the dirt beneath his feet as though he expected some great serpent to break through and snap him up.

“Varric said something about some hot chick up this way.” Sera declared as she leaned against the high section that she currently sat on. 

Ivuni shifted to look at her, a smirk stealing her features before she pointed across the keep. “Champion of Kirkwall, over that way.” She said simply. 

“Right.” The other woman reasoned as she turned her head in the aforementioned direction. “Will have to look into that one.” Sera sighed and turned her focus out over the mountains around them. “I half expected to find you huddled up under some table hidden away somewhere after all that Inquisitor nonsense. Bit over the top, innit?”

Ivuni smirked again. “I had considered such a hideout.” She confessed. “But at this point I don’t think there is much of an escape from all of this.” 

“It has an interesting sound to it: Inquisitor.” She drew the word out, then she scrunched her face and shook her head. “Sounds a little too fluffy. Glowbug is much better. They should make that an official title.”

“I prefer that one, myself.” Dorian’s voice preceded his steps up to the landing and he moved to stand somewhat opposite Sera. She watched him smile at the blonde beside her and felt the corners of her own mouth tug upwards in response.

“And I as well.” Ivuni agreed. “If you’re looking for the ‘hot chick’ that Varric has apparently referenced, she’s over that way.” She added to be fair with Dorian, pointing in the same direction she had indicated for Sera.

“I think I can stand to pass on meeting the Champion of Kirkwall for now.” He replied. “This is an interesting locale you have found for us, Ivuni.” He tipped his head as he leaned against the neighboring merlon. “I’ve never been much of an Ice Mage, but,” he held up a hand as though grasping a wine glass. At first, nothing happened, but within a matter of seconds, she could make out the cold seeming to center near his fingers. It coiled tighter and tighter, solidifying between his fingers, then fanning out above his hand. 

Ivuni smiled when she finally noted the familiar form of a moon flower. “That’s lovely.” When he handed it to her, she accepted it with a thank you and brought it closer to herself for inspection. He claimed to not be much of an ice Mage, so she wondered if this was really nothing in regard to cold magic, or if he wasn’t being outright honest with the full scope of his abilities yet.

“What, Dorian?” Sera sighed. “Stop looking at me.”

Dorian’s smile broadened then. “I’m wondering if familiarity would cure your suspicion of magic.”

“I don’t need to be familiar with your tool.” Sera declared and Ivuni choked on a laugh.

“Please stop saying ‘tool’,” Dorian shook his head, “and consider how much magic can accomplish. There are benefits for you and everyone, as the Maker said, ‘magic exists to serve'.”

“I don’t care.” Sera replied, her tone flat. “I like you, Dorian. Don’t ruin it.”

“Nothing to add, Inquisitor?” He asked and Ivuni felt herself cringe internally.

She bit her lip as she turned herself around on the merlon so she could look between them both. “Magic is not unusual to me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “My clan’s Keeper is a Mage, as is our First.”

“Have you ever tried your own hand at magic?” He asked.

“I’m not a Mage, Dorian.” She reminded him.

“The story goes that magic was just as natural to elves as breathing was.” He insisted.

“Now you sound like Solas.” She pointed out.

“And didn’t Tevinter assault the Elven Empire and enslave all of its people?” Sera quipped. “Bit of an arse to bring that up.” Ivuni’s attention snapped towards the other woman as she folded her arms. Sera frowned at her, then shifted her focus towards Dorian and frowned further. “What?” She scoffed. “Just because I don’t like elfy business don’t mean I don’t know it.”

“You’re like one of those secret geniuses.” Dorian crossed his own arms, but leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the blonde as though he could get a better read on her by doing so. “Probably even some secret Mage that studies blood magic in the middle of the night.”

“Ugh.” Sera stomped her foot and spun around towards the steps. “Sera disapproves.” She called over her shoulder as she left them alone on the battlements. 

 

“Inquisitor?” Josephine’s voice brought her to pause as she left the designated war room behind her and moved through what appeared to be a sitting room with a fireplace on the wall and a desk angled against a corner. Said corner Josephine rounded with tack board in hand. At the sight of Ivuni’s slight grimace, the diplomat cleared her throat, but fell in step with her all the same.

“Ivuni still works.” She insisted. “Still a bit unsettling, this whole ‘Inquisitor’ thing.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Though I will say it’s preferable to ‘Herald of Andraste’.”

“I am hoping it gains us a stronger presence in recruiting allies.” Josephine nodded. “Not everyone in Thedas is Andrastian.” 

Ivuni tipped her head in agreement. “That is true.”

“I am hoping to gain us an invitation to a ball in Orlais in a several weeks.” The brunette continued.

“A ball?” It was strange to attempt to describe what she felt in regard to such a notion. Curiosity, was likely the best term. It wasn’t enthusiasm that had her guessing at the wear and wonder of a frilly gathering of nobles. But she did wonder what it entailed and what those sort got up to during a celebration. “Will it be very…fancy?”

“Oh yes.” Josephine smiled at her. “We will need to dress accordingly and I’m looking to arrange a few short dance lessons for everyone so we’re not tripping all over ourselves if the night calls for dancing on the part of the Inquisition.”

Ivuni tried not to grimace. “And when is this taking place?”

“Approximately five weeks. We, however, have not yet garnered an invitation.”

Five weeks might have seemed like a long time at one point in her life, before green magic had been sewn into her hand, maybe. Now, even with that much time standing between them an impending deadline, there was some strange sense of pressing necessity to achieve… “What exactly do we need in order to gain invitation?”

Josephine shrugged her shoulders. “Influence.”

They passed through the great hall and the sound of groaning wood overhead had her glancing up towards the wooden crossbeams overhead. A thin trickle of rubble tumbled from somewhere that pressure gave and dropped against the floor to the right of them. It had been like that for the three days since their arrival, though she had been assured they had builders and Mages working to secure every loose nook and cranny. 

“I am hoping that Dorian has discovered some history about this place in the library.” Josephine picked up, guiding her away from the still barricaded door directly across the hall and towards the one somewhat further towards the main doors. “He has an affinity for pouring through written catalogues and scripts like few I have ever seen.” There was an odd light of excitement in the Antivan woman’s eyes and Ivuni tried not to smile too broadly. 

When the other woman pushed open the door and then the next a few steps further inward, they stepped into a large round, almost cavernous room. Stepping further within, she turned a slow full circle as her eyes casted upward. It was like being within a hollowed out tower. An entire story above them was lined in wood and metal railing and from her current position in the round room, she could make out the ends of what appeared to be book cases, though she wanted a closer look to confirm such.

Trying to follow after Josephine’s steps, she noticed a few black birds darting about in the uppermost reaches of the structure. The familiar sound of wings fluttering and raven’s squawking and crooning at one another clued her into what it was. “A rookery.” She murmured more to herself to give it a name. She glanced briefly ahead to be sure she was still following Josephine and took note of an alcove that seemed to lead to stairs before she looked back towards the supposed rookery once more and wondered if that was what it had always been, or if it had naturally become such. 

The now familiar sound of groaning wood brought her to pause as her eyes shifted rapidly trying to find the source. When she noted the section of stonework that gave and dropped towards, her, she drew in a sharp breath and her muscles tensed to move.

A firm arm wrapped about her waist and yanked her back out of the way of crumbling debris from the upper level. It cast a cloud of dust outward into the rotunda and Ivuni turned away from it, burying her face in something soft to keep it out of her eyes and nose. The tingle of magic made her skin prickle as a gust of air pushed around her and she chanced a glance at the dust being pushed away from them. She exhaled, relieved, and a trace smile tugged at her lips. 

Turning back towards the soft warm, lemon and mint smelling…Solas was staring down at her, his face inches above her own, her fingers gripped tight in his tunic, his hand at her waist. Footsteps hurried towards their location from the main hall, but she kept her focus locked. Trying to identify the color of his brows, she found herself wondering what he may have looked like with hair. Would he have worn it short? Long? Shaved at one or along both sides?

“Err,” Sera’s familiar tone cut through the room, “I’d suggest getting a room, but you’ve sort of accomplished that.”

Ivuni cleared her throat, withdrew her hands and took a careful step back from the elven apostate. Then she folded her hands behind herself and looked towards Sera. “Hiding out from Dorian?”

The other woman scoffed at the notion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pouted and folded her arms across her chest.

“One mage to another.” Ivuni teased as she glanced briefly towards Solas. 

“Whatever.” Sera waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got a friend who has something to offer us.”

“A Red Jenny friend?” Josephine asked, carefully curious. And for a moment, Ivuni blushed when she realized she had forgotten that she had in fact followed their diplomat into that very room.

“Sort of.” Sera shrugged.

“And what does your _friend_ have to offer?”

A smile stole across Sera’s features and her eyes lit up. “Bees.”

For a minute, no one said anything. She felt herself waiting for the other Elven woman to continue, but she simply stood waiting for them to respond. It seemed Josephine and Solas also were either stunned, flabbergasted, or dumbstruck as for once, neither of them seemed to possess a snappy reply. Of any kind.

Finally, Ivuni sought the initiative. “Bees?”

“Bees.” Sera repeated with a nod. Then she crossed the room and wrapped her hand about Ivuni’s somewhat darker wrist. “Come on then, pretty sure you’ll be positively pinched with these bees.”

Regardless of the reassurance, Ivuni hesitated and dug her heels into the floor. “I’m confused about the necessity for bees. I do like a spot of honey in my tea or milk, but I don’t see how that is–”

“They’re not honey making bees.” Sera shook her head. “They’re too stingy for that. Nope, these are fighting bees. Best way to spice up a dull party.”

Fighting. Bees.

“Trapped inside of glass, angry.” A new voice joined the conversation and Sera startled, the boy appearing just beside her. “Buzzing, humming, waiting to be free, waiting to cause…mayhem.”

Sera chuckled almost gleefully at Cole’s enunciation of ‘mayhem’. When the other woman gave another tug at her left wrist, Ivuni reached out with her right hand and curled her fingers once more into Solas’s tunic. “I need you.” She told him. “Your magic.” She clarified.

“You could take Dorian if it’s magic you need.” He countered.

“We don’t need Dorian.” Sera offered.

Ivuni smirked. “He can come too.”

“Two archeresses, and two mages?” He pressed. “That seems somewhat misbalanced.”

She looked at Sera. “Should we be expecting a fight?”

The other woman frowned. “If things get really hairy, it may come down to a fist fight?”

“You bring your magic, and I’ll protect you from flying fists.” Ivuni offered.

Solas stared at her for a moment, his features neutral, though his eyes held some grain of amusement. “As you wish.”

“He smells like mint and sage.” Cole commented, suddenly beside her. Then the mysterious boy leaned forward and sniffed her shoulder. “She does smell like lilacs.”

 

They both stared at the jar. There was a clear blue coating that covered most of the inside of the glass, and for the time being, the bees appeared content in their confinement. At least they did until Sera gave the jar a light shake and a sudden mad buzzing escaped through the six puncture holes in the otherwise tightly spun lid. 

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume they don’t prefer such treatment.” Dorian’s voice carried across the fire.

Ivuni bit at her lower lip and Sera set the jar down on the ground in front of them, their eyes still fixed on it and the gradually calming creatures within. She shifted away just enough to set her dinner plate aside and out of the way. Then she sat once more right next to Sera and looked again at the bees.

Sera’s acquaintance, Malcolm, had informed them that the blue concoction was what baited the bees inside. It apparently heightened their senses and kept them in a perpetual state of calm frenzy. Calm until they were shaken or thrown. The glaze also increased the brittleness of the glass, so when tossed, it shattered almost effortlessly upon impact.

“Are you both honestly so taken with a jar of bees?” Dorian leaned forward and the light from the fire danced across his features, giving them sharper definition. When they merely lifted their eyes in sync to meet his and then both shrugged in tune with one another before dropping their eyes back towards the bees, Dorian set his empty plate down beside himself and rose to his feet. “The potential to be stung incessantly is ever so captivating. I’ll leave you to it, then.” With that, he made his way towards one of the tents that he had taken to sharing, for the evening, with Varric.

She watched Sera poke a finger at the jar and the bees hummed to life once more. “How are we supposed to actually handle magically fragile jars of angry bees?”

“Carefully.” Solas offered, lifting his head from his book. “Smaller jars may make transport and handling easier.”

“And a beekeeper suit.” Sera added with a nod. “Well! I’m off to bed, also.” She leaned forward, snatched up the jar and stalked off to one of the smaller tents.

“I’m bit perturbed by the fact that she just took the bees to bed with her.” Ivuni said, somewhat to the only other companion still sitting with her, and somewhat to simply voice her thoughts on the matter.

“Better her tent.” Solas replied, seemingly leaving the rest of his thought unspoken. When he glanced at his book once, more, she smiled tight lipped somewhat to herself and considered turning in for the night as well. “How old are you?” He asked, and she glanced at him wondering if he asked in earnest or if he was merely asking in order to fill the silence.

“Well,” she sighed, her eyes returning to the fire between them, “when I left for the conclave, I had been with the clan for twenty-eight years, which is one of the reasons that I was chosen.” Glancing briefly at him, he gave a nod, seeming to accept that as her answer. She realized in that moment that that would be all that she would need to tell him and he would be content with that knowledge. Still, he shared so much with her when she asked, that she felt some form of compulsion to continue, as if she owed him some unspoken debt. “They say that I was not very steady on my feet when they found me, though.” Her voice evened out, became more breathy as her thoughts stole her away, trying to imagine herself as a toddler.

Ivuni let that morsel of information sit between them, let it fester to see if he would draw at it like a stray strand of thread. “Your clan _found_ you?” He pressed, his interest suddenly piqued, and she found herself not disappointed by his pursuit for more.

She gave a nod, and leaned back against one of the crates behind her. “Deshanna believes I had possibly seen two winters by that point. Or two summers.” No one knew exactly what season she had been born during. 

“You were alone when they found you?” 

Ivuni shook her head. “They say that,” she trailed off as a faint chuckle escaped her, “the elders of the clan say they found me in the company of an unusually large wolf.” She tried not to roll her eyes. “Elwen insists it was one of the old Knights’ Guardians.” Another slip of laughter escaped her. It was such a silly tale, if anyone ever asked her opinion on the matter.

“So ‘Ivuni’ was not the name your parents gave you.” He gathered.

“No, well, no one knows.” She conceded. “Deshanna named me after what she says is some obscure royal or high born Mage that Elvhen history has mostly forgotten about, or purposely did away with.” She shrugged and sighed. “She says that she once read about this Mage whose gift was life itself, but that she for some reason disappeared and her magic was lost to the world. Elwen wonders if that’s one of the reasons the elves are no longer immortal. Maybe she really just practiced blood magic.”

Solas was so quiet beside her that she looked up once more just to see if he had left her to herself, but he still sat in the same place, his book set beside him, his arms folded with his eyes on her, guarded. “Why did she opt for that name specifically if there was a chance that this woman was forgotten intentionally?”

Ivuni hesitated and pressed her lips together. “I don’t know.” She lied.


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you kidding me?” Sera snapped and folded her arms across her chest, then she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at the merchant. “You want eighty silver? For _that_?” She demanded of the man with the bow in his hands. “Are you right in the head?” Sera shifted and pointed to her then. “You see my friend over there, lovely swirling marks on her face? Yeah, the Dalish girl. She could have made that,” she pointed to the bow in his hands once more, “when she was four.”

The man looked frazzled, but somewhat skeptical. 

She could make a bow, but she was no master crafter. Sera putting her on the spot, regardless of the fact that she was occupied two stalls down sifting through fruit didn’t keep the merchant from following Sera’s pointed finger directly to her. It was always a treat to be highlighted as Dalish to human merchants and rarely did it ever prove favorable so she wasn’t sure that doing so was going to win Sera any clout during her bartering pursuit. 

Ivuni still struggled to completely grasp the proper exchange and structure of the monetary system she was being forced to utilize. Josephine poured over it almost as much as she encouraged her to learn the names of more prominent nobles. Her insistence that it seemed easier to trade or exchange was often met with a sigh; sometimes Josephine agreed with her and insisted many merchants were eager to trade assuming you possessed a skill or items of apparent value. A merchant might seek for him or herself, or may have connections or buyers that were interested in specifics. And then Josephine would reason that her being Dalish could drive up value of an item with the right individual, or drive it down with another. 

So, she was stuck with coppers, bits of silver, and access to gold that she refused to carry herself. That she left in the care of Bull as she doubted many – if any – people saw him as a potential target to be mugged. 

“Don’t look at her too long.” Sera added quickly, snapping her fingers. “My other pointy eared friend might turn you into a toad.”

And just like that, her cheeks were warm and she lifted a hand to muffle the sound of her clearing her throat. The urge to lift her scarf or raise her hood onto her head was near overwhelming and she shot Sera a disapproving look that the blonde barely caught before turning her attention back to the merchant and waving dismissively at the bow in his hands.

“Put it away.” Sera huffed. “We’re here for sharper items, anyway.”

The merchant turned and set the bow behind him on a stand next to several others. As much as she admired some of the intricacies of the carvings on one of the bows, she wasn’t willing to part with that much silver or gold for a bow. She wasn’t much partial to the idea of spending it on a blade either. In truth, she would have preferred to wait to return to Skyhold to have Harrit create something, but one of her short knives had broken off within a revenant and she wasn’t keen on not having a pair while they trekked towards Crestwood.

Ivuni slipped a few apples into a cotton sack with three yellow pears and handed the food vendor the allotted copper coins that she had requested in exchange. Unlike Sera, she didn’t see much of a problem with what the posted price read, but sometimes she wondered if the other woman simply enjoyed the haggle. She was definitely good at it. 

“C’mere, Glowbug.” Sera waved her over as the merchant set a long flat case on the table between him and them. Ivuni offered the vendor her thanks before stepping over to the wares merchant and putting herself beside Sera as the case was unlatched and then turned open for them. “Shiny.” Sera nudged her with an elbow. “You’re the one that actually needs a replacement.” 

She reached forward and plucked up one of the knives nearest her. It was the length of her forearm, inner elbow to wrist, from end to end. The hilt was narrow, nothing fancy beyond being a polished redwood and the blade itself was simple enough. She turned the item over in her hand several times to gauge the weight distribution and seemed content with it. Until a shadow passed over them and a much larger individual stepped up beside her. 

“That one,” Bull pointed to the knife that had sat to her current choice’s right, “looks a little more intimidating. I mean, I get that you’re not looking for an outright primary dagger here and you utilize your knives more in the likelihood someone gets too close for your bow.” He shrugged and tilted his head slightly as he seemed to gauge the other four blades offered. Then he picked up the item that he had indicated. She watched him roll it about in his much larger hand and then he twirled it with little effort through his fingers before settling it back against his palm. “Here, you check it out.” He offered her the handle.

Glancing back at the merchant, Ivuni set the first knife back where she had taken it up from, then wrapped her fingers around the dark wood handle of the knife that Bull had selected. The blade itself was wider than the first and the end curved slightly which she reasoned could prove useful in regard to gutting game just as well as it could serve gutting demons or rogue Templars and Mages. Multiple uses to be had from a single item was always beneficial.

“Nice wicked curl there on the end.” Bull indicated as if he was reading the end of her thoughts. 

“It is rather well balanced from tip to tang.” She commented.

“I had noticed that as well.” Bull nodded beside her. “Decent enough size I think it would sit well at your hip or the small of your back.”

“I am sure that any blade you pick will suffice!” Dorian called. He had leaned himself against a sturdy stack of shipping crates while he _allowed_ them to shop amongst the ‘humble ware hawkers’. 

“There’s a fine science present here, Vint.” Bull called back, and Dorian simply scoffed. Whether it was in regard to the focus of the blade, or the demeaning nickname, was left undecided. “Don’t mind him, boss, you just take your time and pick what you like.”

Dorian muttered under his breath and then folded his arms once more, tipping his chin upward.

“I do think this one is pretty.” Ivuni smirked. She smiled at the merchant then turned slightly and flicked the knife with enough force and precision that it embedded in the framing panel of a crate just beside Dorian’s upturned nose, prompting him to step away from his perch. Even Solas looked up from his book and glanced at the knife, then followed the line it had been thrown from and his gaze fixed on her. 

“The hell?” Sera shrieked. “Do you miss with _anything_ pointy?”

She shrugged in reply. “I _did_ miss. I was aiming for his mustache.” 

“Oh, ha ha ha.” Dorian enunciated dryly.

“That’s not how a Tevinter laughs!” Sera shouted at him.

“Oh?” Dorian threw his hands up in the air and then stalked towards them. “And how is a Tevinter supposed to laugh, exactly?” 

“Pssh,” Sera folded her arms, “cruel and stupid, like…” she sucked in a breath and then cackled like a madwoman prompting several looks from other shoppers.

“Oh no.” Dorian shook his head. “You’re not allowed to laugh like that until you get your magister’s license.”

Sera gasped and her eyes widened. “Varric owes me a sovereign!” 

Ivuni turned back to the merchant who stared at her, brows lifted high on his forehead. “I’ll take that one.” She gestured over her shoulder to the blade protruding from the trunk. “How much?”

“Ninety-four silver.” He replied.

“Sixty-six.” Sera countered.

The man’s brow furrowed and he set his hands on the table, leaning forward. “Eighty-two.”

Sera shook her head. “Seventy.”

“Eighty.”

“Seventy-four”

“Seventy-seven.”

“Sold.” The blonde elf declared. “Bull! Pay the man.”

She didn’t wait for or watch Bull turn over the requested silver. Instead, she spun on her heel and made her way towards her new knife. Doing so forced her within reaching distance of Solas and she glanced at him briefly as she moved by him. He didn’t look up at her and she didn’t understand this strange place they had suddenly settled into, him distanced and her compliant with it. For whatever reason. She had gone over their last discussion a dozen times trying to figure out where along the way she had offended him, or if there was some point where he may had formed the thought that _he_ had offended her.

He had become caught up in the story behind her name, seeking more and more, and she had tried to give him the answers that she possessed. Then she had suddenly clammed up and completely shut down. She was sure it had been irrational on her part. He had never threatened her in the slightest and in fact had proven himself just the opposite in minding her and her wellbeing. Something had just…snapped. He had asked for more, and she had given him a half lied response. For him, it had probably just been pure curiosity.

Her mind split, now curiosity and guilt racked her for driving him away, even when the other half of her brain insisted she had done nothing wrong and his current sour mood shouldn’t bother her.

But it did. 

He had been the first person to actively seek her out and speak with her upon being taken into the Inquisition’s folds. He took her hand after sealing rifts he was present for and asked if she was all right. He asked her what she saw in the sky. 

“How’s your book?” She asked as she gripped the knife handle and gave a solid tug, dislodging it with a pop and splintering of wood.

“Very educational.” He offered a ghost of a smile without lifting his eyes from his book. 

She drew her lips between her teeth and bit down gently as she bounced the rounded end of the knife pommel against her thigh, grasping at any other way to shake the silence. “Is there anything that you need while we are here?” She tried.

He looked up at her then. “I don’t believe so. But thank you for thinking to ask.” And then he offered her a smile, one that he put on to appease someone with and she struggled not to wince and sulk away like a scolded child.

Instead, she offered him a half-hearted smile of her own and stood herself straighter. “I…think we’re going to out head out soon, then.”

“As you wish.” He replied before turning his focus back to his book.

 

They left the little clearing and circle of merchants as the sun set, Sera insistent on wanting to gain as much ground towards Crestwood before they set up camp again. It was odd that Sera was the one ushering them forward, but no one commented on the matter.

Said woman sidled up next to her as the air cooled and the first thrum of cricket song peppered the air, an elbow in the side. “What’s up with you and Droopy Ears?” She asked flat out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy.” Sera quirked a brow and shook her head. “You two have been weird for days now. I can normally get a rise out of either of you with a simple barb about the other and now…nothing.”

“I’d venture to deem it young love.” Dorian stepped up on her other side. “But you don’t strike me the blushing virgin and Solas…has at least a few years on all of us.” Then he frowned. “Except maybe your dashing Warden Blackwall.”

“It’s nothing like that.” She assured them, her voice flat.

“Look, if he’s not your thing, you have to just be out with it.” Sera ventured. “Men are simple creatures, yeah? They need clear cut direction. ‘Solas, you’re not my type, I’m sorry it will never work’ straight forward.” She threw her hands out before her to emphasize. “Or same thing if he is! ‘Solas, your…bald head gets me hot, I need you now’ works just as well.” Sera grimaced and shivered. “Just, please, when I’m not around.”

“Kill me.” She looked over her shoulder at Bull.

“She’s not entirely wrong.” Dorian insisted. 

“Maybe he’s just as confused about his feelings as you are.” Bull suddenly spoke from behind them. 

“For fuck’s sake.” She sighed.

“He can’t hear us.” Dorian waved a hand dismissively. “There are three horses, half a dozen scouts, Cassandra, and Varric cooing to Bianca between him and us and he’s got his nose stuffed in a book.”

Then Ivuni reached up and flicked Dorian in the ear. “ _Elf_.” She insisted, because although humans loved to rail on the shape of their ears, their hearing was precise enough to make out the drop of a pin. “I am done with this conversation. There is nothing for it and even if there were, it would be between him and me.” With a huff, she detached herself from the makeshift group and stepped off the direct line of the road. Then she caught herself. “I’m not mad.” She clarified before turning and heading into the tree line where she was sure they would not follow. It was easier for her there, familiar.

She kept pace with the band easily. As awkward as they could make her feel, it was…comforting in a way to know that they in some manner cared about her enough to engage her in such a conversation to weed out what was bothering her. Their attempts seemed genuine enough, but she kept waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, for the farce to be revealed. For some truth that their apparent concern was little more than tied to the care of the mark. She shook her left hand absentmindedly. 

“They are like a family.” A gentle voice spoke from beside her and she glanced to her left at the wide brim of a hat. “Not sure if you belong in the skin that you wear, though it seems it’s yours, it’s sometimes not.” Cole’s voice shifted and caught her off guard. “It is beautiful but it never quite fit with everyone else. Elwen always watching.” He glanced at her briefly before casting his eyes back out before them. 

The moment that Cole’s footsteps paused, hers did as well.

“They don’t stare the way the clan still sometimes does. They have already accepted you.”

When she glanced back through the trees towards the moving caravan of Inquisition, she noted Sera attempting to look around Dorian’s form and through the trees. With the setting sun at the blonde woman’s back though, the wooded perimeter was likely harder to perceive through. 

The last person in the band stopped and looked through the trees at her, his eyes finding her with seeming ease. Considering who and what he was, she wasn’t surprised that Solas had stopped to wait for her.

“Just want to belong to one place, one home…one heart to call your own.” Cole offered.

Ivuni felt her face pinch in reply and felt everything about her thoughts turn inward.

“Maeniel’s death was an accident.” The boy ventured both gently and carefully.

“Accidents happen every day.”

“It was not your fault.” He insisted. “It was not because you were there. It had nothing to do with luck. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

She tried fighting the thoughts of Bull, Varric, and Solas affected by the red lyrium of Alexius’s twisted future. She tried to ignore the unease and unrest that seeing them in such a manner had stirred in her. She tried to block out the memories of their voices. It didn’t matter that that future had been unmade. Any of it could befall any member of the Inquisition at any point. 

“That was not your fault.”

Wasn’t it though? Corypheus sought the mark and Alexius had been drawn into his number of follwers. Alexius had meant it to save his son, and she imagined a parent’s desperation to save their child would throw more than caution to the wind. She had seen the extent that Alexius had been willing to go to keep Felix alive. He had been willing to rend the world asunder just to preserve his dying child’s life. He had been easy for Corypheus to manipulate.

To find her.

Ivuni swallowed and shook her head. She had not caused the fall of the world by her own hand, but it had happened because of her.

“It happened because you died.” Cole countered her thoughts. “You have to not die.”


	8. Chapter 8

She had tried to seek the safety of her bedroll once they had settled in, once they had spoken with Stroud and Hawke, once they had learned Crestwood’s sullen truth. Mayor Gregory Dedrick had drowned his own people. Part of her sought to reason the fact that he thought he had done the right thing to contain the Blight taint. If he hadn’t separated people, it may have spread. The infected would have died, or worse. Would they have risen up to become darkspawn? Or would they have risen up as fumbling corpses like those that still haunted the Fallow Mire? Yet not everyone caught in the flood had been infected. Innocent lives had been snuffed out as well.

One man had taken control of an entire situation that accounted for dozens upon dozens of lives and he had made a decision based on his own judgement. Had he put thought into such action? Or had he decided without a moment’s notice? Unless Leliana’s agents could find him, she was unlikely to ever learn to truth or the man’s reasoning, and that in itself was almost as unsettling as the act itself.

Her thoughts circling such, her mind had refused to settle itself and refused to let her slip quietly into sleep. She had forced her eyes closed, forced her breathing to even out, and willed herself to sleep. But it wouldn’t come. It tickled up against her thoughts, only to withdraw when she had actively sought to sink further. The harder she had tried to reach out for it, the further it had slipped from her reach. There had been a point when she had fell further and further downward, and then…snapped back into her skin.

Throwing her blankets aside, she had risen and strolled out through the quiet campsite and headed mindlessly towards the mouth of the canyon that split the area, only to double back when she noticed how far from camp she had managed to get on her own without paying attention. A pair of fennec had raced from a hovel and tumbled about with each other around her ankles. They chirped and hissed at one another from time to time before they jumped back into racing about her bare feet, occasionally prompting her to halt. Once she had left the canyon behind her, they had fallen back, yipping a few times as she moved away before they darted back into the shadows.

The fatigue was thick in her limbs, but her mind was alive, unwilling to yield. So she wandered back towards camp and then sat herself down in the grass and wildflowers. Her fingers had danced silently through the thin and wiry stems of a patch of evening stock, plucking at several small lavender flowers and absentmindedly weaving them together with blades of the taller grass in an effort to occupy her mind with something mundane enough to hopefully instill boredom.

She was somewhat surprised when a figure sat down beside her, but the surprise was that the boy didn’t speak a word to her right away, he just sat at her side. Still, she turned and looked over at him and he returned her gaze. Then he cautiously reached a hands towards her and set it on her shoulder. “Sometimes people make mistakes that change the world.” He finally spoke. “They are quieter now that you helped.”

He was offering her comfort even when her unease was threatening to slide back into place, and she rose up to her knees. Cole was a being she was starting to care for as she appreciated the way he unfolded the world and offered people kindness, comfort, and compassion. She had initially been somewhat guarded towards him, unsure of his motive, wary even when Solas had insisted that he was a spirit and was possessing no one. She had argued on behalf of his assistance to them against Vivienne’s claim that he was dangerous. Still, a small part of her wondered if she would live to regret allowing him to remain; she hoped she would not. With a smile, she set the flimsy circlet of flowers atop his head and she felt her chest tighten in response to the smile he offered her. It was so _real_.

“Thank you.” He breathed.

“You’re welcome.” She lifted her right hand from her side and rubbed at her left arm. Ivuni swallowed and exhaled, a measure of tension slipping from her then. “It looks good on you.” Hesitantly, she glanced back towards the camp and considered going back, but everyone seemed to have turned in for the night. 

“He thinks you want him to stay away.” Cole drew her attention back and she stared at him. “You won’t speak, won’t reach, won’t offer any more of yourself and he hesitates to ask.”

“Cole, I tri–”

“It is there.” He reached an open hand out towards her, but actual contact was never made. “Right on the surface. You want him to.” Heat pushed up into her cheeks and burned a path toward the tips of her ears. “It is okay to want to trust someone again.”

A shadow shifting across them both drew her focus beyond Cole and her gaze set on Solas moving towards them and her heart suddenly leapt into her throat. Ivuni let her gaze briefly sweep towards Cole, before she climbed to her feet, turned on her heel and forced herself to move away from the boy. The grass gave and folded gently beneath her feet, almost cushioning her soles against dips in the terrain and the occasional stone or barb. 

“She doesn’t have it now that you do.” Cole’s voice spoke as she put him behind her.

Her feet took her down the path that led out towards the water. If she turned her head towards her left shoulder she would barely make out the mouth of the cave that they had met Stroud in, but that was not even remotely a destination that she wanted as it would trap her behind walls with only one apparent escape route. But she didn’t even really know _what_ she wanted; she wasn’t even sure that she necessarily wanted to be away.

Solas made her feel strange. Warm. Made her insides clench. Made her breath catch. More recently she would blame it on his probing questions ruffling her level of comfort, but it wasn’t just their most recent exchange that had spurred the shift. It had been there in the rotunda when he had yanked her out of the way of falling debris and up against himself. It had been there when he had led her through the Frostbacks to reach Skyhold, or when he had carved an arrow out of her leg and insisted she tell him sooner the next time she was injured. It had been there when he had sat out with her beneath the stars and asked her what she saw staring down at them, genuine curiosity pushing him to engage rather than just listen to what she had to say.

She had made a subtle effort to avoid him and allowed his avoidance of her since she had divulged her youth to him upon his asking. He’d asked one question and then she gave him so much more. She had been willing to give him the story, until he pressed for more. It shouldn’t have mattered much except he had asked rather curious questions in just his way that had indicated he was looking for more than she had offered him. Her name was just a name. Plenty of people were named after other people. Sometimes it had to do with family, sometimes it was respect, sometimes it was reverence. Or a hundred other possible reasons. 

But it was more than just his questioning.

And until that very point in time, Solas had seemed content enough with space that had been allowed to unwind between them. He said nothing when she requested Dorian’s presence and skill whenever she left the confines of a campsite or sought someone to question about the arcane. She had even toyed with the idea of facing the local dragon without him until Dorian had insisted she reconsider. Solas just kept to his damned self, kept to his stupid books, and silently healed anyone when they returned from a mission to here or a blighted mission to there without being asked. He didn’t complain, he didn’t bother attempting to bridge the invisible gap, he just accepted it, wouldn’t even allow a cordial breach in it.

He didn’t even…

A frustrated sound escaped her and her feet finally came to a grinding halt when her conscious mind realized it would have walked her clear off the short dock and into the pond. She exhaled audibly and took in her immediate surroundings. Blood lotus scented air, crickets humming in the reeds, fire bugs dancing across the surface of the pond.

“Inquisitor.” His voice reached out.

Her nose wrinkled. “Don’t.” She lifted a hand to stop him from proceeding further or from addressing her in such a manner again. What was with humans and their titles? Why couldn’t she just be herself? She had intentionally not headed towards the Warden’s cave so as not to trap herself, instead she had done so at the end of a dock. “I am nothing so special. I still prefer my own name.”

“There are a great many people who would argue the first half of that thought.”

“I am well aware, but I don’t need those closest to me addressing me in such a way.” She replied. She still wanted to be herself sometimes, not constantly some coveted individual held up on a pedestal. “I am still _me_.”

“My apologies, da’len.”

She turned immediately and looked at him, her gaze hardened. “I am not a child.” The fingers of her left hand twitched at her side and her palm grew hot, magic snapping briefly against her wrist. She didn’t feel like a child and no one would consider her such unless they held years stacked high against her own. She had noticed the tiny little lines at the edges of his eyes whenever he smiled, but she refused to be called ‘child’ or even ‘young one’ by him. Especially him.

“Of course.” He offered her a polite half smile before dropping his eyes to the ground between them. “I am not handling this very well.”

“No, you’re not.”

Solas cleared his throat and stood a little taller. “Still, my intentions are to offer my apologies.” He insisted. “For now…as well as the other evening. I did not mean to pry or make you uncomfortable.” He took a cautious step towards her and she allowed it. “Your story was fascinating and I allowed my desire for knowledge to get the better of me.” His eyes shifted between her own, momentarily sliding along the vallaslin along her left cheek. “I would…like to learn more about this woman you were named for.”

Ivuni folded her hands before herself. “I don’t really know anything else about her.” She admitted honestly and she could see in him the desire to press the issue and ask more, yet he seemed to reign himself, offering her a nod of concession. “I’m not even sure if my Keeper truly knows much about her.” She drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I think she just needed to call me something.”

“Perhaps I will conduct my own research.” Then he dropped his hands, folded them behind himself and cleared his throat. “I did not mean to chase you away from camp.”

“It was my decision to move away from it.” She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and fought the urge to cross her arms. “I couldn’t sleep anyway, so...” she shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

His brows dipped slightly as he regarded her, a question sitting just beneath the surface that he let fester. “Perhaps a walk will help.” He offered and the ghost of a smile touched her face as she gave a nod. “Let us talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than this.” 

She followed after him through the evening stock and tall grass until it gave way to lightly sifting snow. He took her up the short stairwell beyond the fire that Varric often sat around and up through to the chantry. He pushed the left door open with little effort and they slipped through with ease. Their steps echoed faintly against the stone walls as he brought her to the lower levels, only pausing when she realized they were in the dungeon.

Then he stood still, staring ahead at a pair of cells on the western wall. She waited for him to speak, but he simply kept where he was, his gaze fixed on something that only he seemed able to perceive. But when she moved to step towards him, wisps curled together, congregating in one of the cells and she could barely make out his image standing within looking at the floor. Another cluster of wisps gave form to another body lying on its side. She watched his ghostlike form kneel, watched his hand reach carefully forward and she couldn’t fight her curiosity. She took a few steps forward until she could make out the other figure as his fingers pushed hair out of her face. _Her_ face.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor.” He finally spoke, suddenly beside her.

When she looked back at their hazy copies, they momentarily broke apart into fluttering spheres of light before regrouping. He had sat beside her, her hand in his lap while he tried to draw on the magic within. His free hand pushed more of her hair out of her face until her form moved slightly and an almost dismissible sound escaped her. “How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?”

“A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique Breach in the Veil?” He glanced at her. “Longer than you might think.” He turned back and they watched him sigh and lean back against the damp cold wall as he closed his eyes. “I ran every test I could imagine. Searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

She smirked at the thought and it was oh so fitting of the Seeker. “Cassandra’s like that with everyone.” 

He offered a chuckle in reply and she felt her half-hearted smile become more. That sound. That perfect sound. She had realized that no one in their retinue laughed very often, so when any of them did, it felt like receiving a gift to hear it.

When he turned to leave the cells behind, she followed in his steps, glancing over her shoulder to watch their copies fade. “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade?” He took her out into the courtyard then and she had half a thought to seek out Leliana’s form in her tent. “I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.” He sighed, then. “Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra…nor she in me. I was ready to flee.”

Ivuni frowned and wondered where he thought he would ever be safe at. “The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?”

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before it reached me.” He confessed. “I never said it was a good plan.” She brought a hand up to her mouth to stifle the threat of a chuckle. “I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts.” He took a step out before her and lifted a hand towards the Breach in the sky. “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and fade, resigned myself to flee, and then…”

He was suddenly beside her once more and his right hand curled about her left wrist, lifting it upward, reminding her of the first rift. It had been both confusing and frightening. She had been threatened with execution then marched up a mountainside. She’d been pitted against demons slipping through a weeping green fissure in the air. Then some stranger she hadn’t known had taken hold of her hand and lifted it towards the looming rift. It had felt like a blade had been run through her hand and someone had poured hot water across her skin until the rift gave and evaporated.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” He echoed some of the first words he had ever offered her. “You had sealed it with a gesture…and right then, I felt the whole world change.”

She tore her focus away from the sky and fixed on him. “Felt the whole world change?”

“A figure of speech.” He offered her a smile.

She felt heat flutter up into her cheeks. “I’m aware of the metaphor.” She took a step closer to him, then. “I’m more interested in ‘felt’.”

“You change…everything.” There was something guarded in the way that he said it and she bit at her lower lip to keep from immediately asking him to clarify.

She found herself struggling to grasp at how she as one person could prompt such a feeling in another. Old elven magic had been seared into her palm and given her the ability to patch the veil back together, but that changed what? Everything? What was everything? When she looked at him again, he had allowed his attention to sweep away from her and back out towards the Breach. That was not everything. It was a gaping hole between the physical world and the Fade, but that was not ‘everything’.

_It is okay to want to trust someone again._

“Hmmm.” She hummed and she reached for him, sliding her fingers around the side of his jaw and drawing his focus back towards her. Without missing a beat, she moved in closer and drew his face to meet hers, tipping slightly to keep their noses from colliding she met his mouth with her own. She felt her heart momentarily lull in her chest as she lightly traced the shape and contours of his lips with her own. She could have stood there for hours, she realized, if the world would have allowed for it. There was no pressing urge to be anywhere else, just the desperate urge to recoil and assess his own response. When she drew back she rubbed her own lips together as if to savor the feeling and the subtle taste.

She had intended to withdraw and allow him the opportunity to speak, to pull away, to offer something else, maybe even some reprimand. Instead his hands reached for her and curled about her upper arms, drawing her back in for another kiss by way of his initiation. She prepared herself for another simple acquaintance, but he stepped into it, his hands slid about her and his lips demanded more than hers had. He nipped at her lower lip and she gave in, parting to let his tongue dip into her mouth, baiting hers into action before he dragged his languidly along the roof of her mouth, only to plunge back in again.

Any first kiss she had ever had with anyone had been hesitant, awkwardly trying to figure the other person out. This was different, seemingly far more practiced. He pushed and pulled and she easily reciprocated without waver or falter. He stepped into it further and leaned her back, prompting her to lift her hands to clutch at him for balance; one hand at his waist, fingers curling into his tunic, the other sliding up the side of his neck to cradle the side of his face.

The sensation of magic subtly sparked across her skin and her fingers’ grip tightened and drew him just that much closer to herself. There was a foreign yet suddenly overwhelming desire to push it back through him, but her lack of ability to toy with magic left her wanting more than anything else.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, it ended when he drew back and settled her back on both of her own feet. She opened her eyes enough to watch him shake his head before he leaned in once more. It was a quick but _hungry_ re-acquaintance that had him toying with her lower lip as he once more attempted to withdraw.

“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here.” He shook his head again as he released her.

Ivuni shook her head as she tried to ground herself. Her balance wavered and he reached out to carefully take her left forearm to keep her on her feet. “What do you mean, ‘even here’?”

“Where did you think we were?” He smiled at her, a tease in his tone.

She frowned as she glanced about herself. Nothing seemed out of place. The little houses stood where they were meant to, the window to the tavern that succumbed to the wind was knocking gently against the building’s outer wall, the cobblestone was firm beneath her feet. It was exactly how she remembered Hav… then she caught herself. Solas had led her to Haven. They shouldn’t be there because it shouldn’t be there. “This isn’t real.” She breathed.

“That’s a matter of debate…probably best discussed after you _wake up_.”

The Fade fell away and she immediately bolted upright. She pressed her hands against her cheeks as she huffed in a few breaths and her fingers briefly toyed with a few disheveled sections of hair that had crept loose of their braids to press against her face.

“What’samatter?” Sera groaned unmoving beside her. When Ivuni did not respond right away and instead pushed back her blankets and stood, Sera lifted her head, muttering her question once more. 

She fumbled out of the tent, leaving the other woman grumbling behind her. The sun was barely offering the sky a hint of pink light when she took her first breath of fresh air. She surveyed the tents around them and moved to the first few closest to her and ducked her head in into each to survey its occupants. Neither Bull nor Dorian moved, neither did Varric or Cassandra. Harding was awake in her tent and she was checking her arrow heads and fletching, but didn’t say anything before Ivuni left her alone again. 

He wasn’t there. 

Then her memories caught up with her. He was halfway across Crestwood still at Caer Bronach having decided upon remaining to pour through the keep’s library when they had pushed on to meet with Stroud. 

Her fingers went to her lips as she sat herself down right on the ground. It had seemed so real.

_Probably best discussed after you wake up._

“I’m up now, if you’re interested in knowing.” Sera stated as she stumbled out of their tent hopping on one foot while she tried to pull on her other shoe. “What are you all flushed and bothered for?”


	9. Chapter 9

“You should have seen your face!” Sera snorted as she slapped a hand against her thigh. “You were all ‘I’m too pretty to face a dragon.’” And then she doubled over in a fit of laughter.

Dorian simply shrugged his shoulders and lifted his wine glass to his lips. “I speak only truth.”

“I must confess that I was impressed with your fortitude against the dragon.” Bull looked across the table at Dorian and offered him a warm lopsided smile. “Don’t often expect that kind of standing from Vints.”

“You were most definitely too pretty for that dragon.” Ivuni giggled as she set a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Now, I have to go to bed.” She sighed, enunciating as clearly as she could manage through the bleariness of alcohol induced mind-fog. Half the tavern gave a collective and negative ‘awwe’ but she shook her head. “I’ve stayed too long already.” Ivuni shook her head, as she set her hands against the firm table and used it to help hoist herself to her feet.

Her advisors had decided on scheduling a meeting in the war room to discuss further action at what seemed like an unholy hour the following morning. She had been content with it when they had discussed it earlier in the evening, but at the moment it sounded like the worst possible thing to have to face. They should have arranged it for after lunch. Or after dinner would have been even better. Josephine was still trying to cull favor to get them invited to that fancy ball she kept going on and on about. Hopefully that was all they were pressing for.

“One more, boss.” Bull insisted as he refilled her mug once more.

“It was ‘one more’ an hour ago.” She countered.

“Last one. Last one, I swear.” He insisted, nudging her mug closer to her hand.

When she looked down at it, she found he had only half filled it and she squinted at the contents, then at him before she curled he fingers around the handle. Lifting the item to her lips, she swallowed as quickly as she could manage, the liquid burning the entire way down her throat and warming her once more from the inside out. She struggled to keep from coughing and Bull guffawed.

“Subsequent drinks are always easiest as the nerves on the back of your throat are dead!” The Qunari laughed.

Ivuni slammed the empty mug back down and squealed when he tried to refill it once more, clamping her hand over the top. “Bed, Bull!” She shouted at him.

“Was that an invitation?” His eye widened and he gave her the cheekiest grin. 

She stumbled where she stood with laughter, her arms wrapping around her middle. “Just because I’m a redhead-” 

“You’re the one who put ‘bed’ and ‘Bull’ next to each other in a sentence.” He bounced his brows at her teasingly. 

“Taadar…” she struggled with the words. “Taarsada…”

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!” He corrected her.

“Yes! Taarsidath-an halsaam. That.” She smiled as she swayed slightly against the edge of the table.

“I’d be surprised if you can find the lacings to your trousers by the time you get to your room.” Dorian chuckled. “Let alone get your hand down your pants.”

“Girly bits are easy enough to find and finger!” Sera assured him, setting her mug on the table she sat up a bit straighter.

“That’s all it takes is a finger.” Dorian quipped and tipped his glass at the blonde.

“That’s all it takes _you_.”

Ivuni shook her head, her mind a stew and her smile still plastered across her face like a fool. “I’m going to bed.” She reiterated.

“Allow me to escort you.” Dorian offered, drawing his crossed feet from the table and moving to rise until she lifted both hands to stop him.

“I can manage a dragon, Dorian.” She assured him, as well as the rest of the table, the Chargers offering a supportive grunt. “I can manage the short walk to my room.”

“Are you sure you’re all right to walk yourself back to the keep, darling?” Dorian pressed. 

“I am most definitely all right.” She assured before letting go of the edge of the table. She stumbled once and then caught herself, prompting a round of laughter once more.

“Boss, are you _sure_ you don’t want a lift?” Bull quirked a brow in her direction. “I could have you there in about six steps.”

Ivuni waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You just stay here with…everyone else and clean this place out.” A roar of laughter rolled through the tavern, though she was pretty sure the Chargers could actually follow through on such. “My room is not _that_ far, it’s fine.” It was just about as far from the tavern’s door as it possibly could be. “Good night everyone! I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It’s already morning!” Krem pointed out. “Might as well stay and have breakfast at this point.”

“Good night, Krem.” She smiled.

“I’m coming with you!” Sera declared as she slid off of her bench and stumbled towards her.

“Let me get the door for you, Inquisitor.” A dwarven woman shifted from near the bar and pushed the tavern door open.

“Thank you, Ayana.” She replied with a nod, then stepped out into the cool night air. It was enough to shock some sense into her system. She had thought the tavern warm, but had attributed it to the body count, the fire in the hearth, and the alcohol buzzing in her veins. The outside was so…opposite. It was cool, crisp, quiet.

Sucking in a breath of the refreshing air, she eyed the keep’s stairwell and tried to gauge just how many steps it would take for her to reach the beginning, and then narrowed her eyes in an attempt to count the number of steps it would take her to reach the top. It was daunting when she visually followed the curving stairs upward and she had to turn away from them to keep her stomach in line. 

“Stop staring at them.” Sera scolded as she skipped up beside her. “You get sick, I will get sick.”

“I don’t throw up.” She assured the other woman. “Okay, one step at a time.” She decided as she let go of the tavern’s wall and managed six perfectly normal steps before the world went sideways and her footing ground to a dead halt. When the tipping sensation persisted she leaned forward and set her hands on her knees. Slow breath in, slow breath out. She needed a massive glass of water. 

A hand lifted her wrist and Sera drew her arm across her shoulders in an attempt to support her, though they both wavered briefly. “C’mon, Glowbug, shaker ‘er off. We can make it.”

“This is so sad.” Ivuni chuckled as they attempted to work together with their feet. When they barely managed another two and a half steps and then fell all over themselves, unsure whom had tripped whom, they tumbled into a giggling heap of tangled limbs. “Can’t you walk right?”

“Me?” Sera cackled. “Pretty sure I wasn’t the one wobbling away from the tavern!”

“I’ll have you know that I am _graceful_!” She informed the other woman as they struggled to unwind themselves from one another. Ivuni pushed herself up onto her knees and swayed slightly which sent the other woman into another bout of laughter. She pushed up towards her feet, only to lose her balance and drop back to her knees, sending Sera into a rolling fit of hysterics that had her gasping desperately.

“Yeah!” Sera pushed herself carefully to her own feet. “I can see just how _graceful_ you are!”

Ivuni reached forward and shoved Sera against the left hip toppling her over and they both lost it once more. “You’re one to talk.”

“Inquisitor?” 

Ivuni groaned at the sound, not only of the title, but the smooth timbre of his voice. It sounded far richer than it normally did and in her current state, she wasn’t sure what to make of that fact. “I told you not to call me that.” She told him without lifting her head, her voice more sing song than irritated.

“You did.” Solas agreed. “My apologies.”

When she opened her eyes again, the grass beneath her was steady, only disturbed by the slightest of breezes. Drawing in another breath, she chanced standing up and everything remained as it was meant to be, steady and stable. With the world righted once more, she shifted her focus towards Solas and fought back the urge to let her mouth run away with her. 

“All right.” She breathed, feeling accomplished, she set her hands on her hips.

“Please,” Sera drawled, “show us again just how _graceful_ you are.”

Ivuni looked once more towards the steps that would take her up into the safe and warm confines of the keep. The fact that there was no railing to cling to did not escape her. Her eyes drifted back to the Mage and she took a confident step forward, and then another before the ground shifted beneath her feet and she stumbled once more. She should have face planted, instead an arm braced against her middle and she wrapped her hands around it appreciatively. Without warning, she was plucked up off of her feet and suddenly found herself cradled against him. “I could have made it.” She grumbled against his shoulder.

“I am not insinuating that you wouldn’t have.” He assured her as he turned them towards Sera.

“I’m going back in.” Sera decided and took a few uneven steps towards them, though she managed to remain on her feet, her hands gripped at Ivuni’s side when she reached her. “You go sleep this off because you are going to be sorry in the morning.”

“Don’t remind me about morning time.” She groaned and briefly pressed her face against Solas’s shoulder.

Sera shifted her focus up to Solas. “No funny business when she’s drunk.” She waved a finger at him.

“I am _not_ drunk.” She watched Sera step around them and then followed her over Solas’s shoulder before she disappeared into the tavern once more. She wasn’t sure how the other woman was so much better off, she was sure they had kept pace tankard for tankard. “If you insist on carrying me, then to bed, please.” Her right arm lifted from her side and gestured towards those stupid steps. Normally pride would demand she insist he set her down, but the idea of crawling to her room was unsettling, especially since now that he had found her he was unlikely to leave her and she was not going to let him watch her struggle.

When the two groups had re-met with one another, and handled Crestwood’s dragon problem, he had been far more cordial on their return to Skyhold than he had been in the week prior. When she had posed him questions, he had answered, those being to neutral topics anyway. She had waited for him endlessly to broach the matter of his presence in her apparent dream, but he had kept himself mum on the subject. She would just find him randomly staring at her and she caught herself wondering if he was waiting for her to bring it up or if he were trying to study her in a new light. 

Silence briefly settled between them as he took them up the stairs without issue. She had to admit that he did not look the part of someone who should be carrying her around with such ease, and up a ridiculous staircase to boot. She felt herself frown as she tried to gauge the way he felt where she was pressed and held against him. Everything about him was firm, but not in the way she might have imagined. If she were being honest, she had imagine him to be a softer sort. She poked him in the chest with a finger, then drew it from one shoulder to the other, trying to map him beneath his few layers of clothing and found defined lines, curves, and dips that she hadn’t thought would be present.

“What are you doing?” He asked, curiously.

“I had not realized you were so…physically fit, Solas.” She admitted. “You’re very…” she retracted her finger and instead pressed her open pam against him and slid it up towards the junction between his neck and left shoulder. “Not what I expected.” She murmured.

Being curled up in his arms, his grip firm around her, she realized her position put her face within inches of his own. It would be so easy to turn his face once more and take those beautiful plump lips between her teeth. He wouldn’t even be immediately able to withdraw and step away from her. He’d have to set her down or drop her right on her butt. A giggled escaped her and she pressed her face instead against the crook of his neck.

“What’s so funny?” 

She simply shook her head and let the laughter roll out of her until it seemed sated. Her weight sagged against him when she sighed, taking the opportunity to rest her eyes. For a moment she felt weightless, as if she could float away, until his grip on her tightened and seemingly yanked her back into her body. She became aware of him shifting and leaning his shoulder against something, prompting her to open her eyes enough to watch him push the door to her chambers open. 

They had managed the stairs and the entire length of the keep proper and all she had done was closed her eyes for a few beats. She wondered if he had used his magic to advance their placement, or if she had actually nodded off for more than a second.

“You were in my dream.” She finally said, sighing as he climbed the steps to her room.

“Do you dream of me often?” He asked, and she could hear the hint of smile in his voice.

“Not like that.” She clarified.

When he reached the upper landing, he inclined his head. “I know what you mean.” She felt his full body exhale as he paused in his progression towards her bed. “I apologize.” She realized he seemed to be in a constant state of apologizing to her. “The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I shouldn’t have encouraged it.”

A frown touched her brows and she wondered if he was speaking of her actions in initiating the kiss that were impulsive and ill considered, or if he was referring to his reciprocation being so. “You say that,” she smirked, “but you’re the one that stuck your tongue in my mouth.”

“I did no such thing.” He murmured as he turned to look at her and she sucked in a slow breath.

“Oh?” She breathed, a smile tugging at her lips, “does it not count if it is only Fade-tongue?”

“It has been a long time,” he confessed, “and things have always been easier for me in the Fade.” He shook his head and closed the distance between them and the side of her bed. “I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.” He sighed as he set her down on the edge of the mattress. 

“I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.” And every part of her wanted him to give in.

He knelt down before her and his hands set to unwinding her lower leg wraps. “I, maybe…yes.” It was more a question than an outright declaration. “If I could take a little time to think. There are considerations.”

Ivuni gave a few nods of her head, then halted immediately as the simple motions threatened to turn her stomach contents. “Take all the time you need.” 

“Thank you. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams.”

“So you do not dream of _me_ often, then.” She surmised, a subtle thread of tease in her tone as she tilted her head.

She watched a half smile pull at the right side of his mouth as he set his hands on either side of her and moved to stand. Her left hand shot forward and immediately curled into the front of his tunic, briefly pausing his ascent when his face leveled with her own. An almost overwhelming urge to lean forward and close the gap between them tugged deep within the confines of her chest and even in her inebriated state, she was overly aware of the subtle tipping forward motion that Solas made as he briefly let his eyes slide shut. 

A hand curling around hers re-grounded her and carefully drew her grip from him, allowing him to stand back to his feet. Putting him in a position to stand over her still did not chase her desire for his proximity any further from her thoughts.

“To bed with you.”

“To bed with _you_.” She muttered as she pushed the blankets back and scooted under them. She arranged herself onto her right side so she could still face him even as he disappeared from view. When his steps prompted the floor to creak ever so slightly beside her once more, she watched him bend over and set something on the floor, piquing her curiosity enough to peer over the edge of the bed at the wash basin bowl. “I don’t throw up.” She assured him.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” He hummed. 

Ivuni sighed and pushed herself back into her usual spot near the edge and curled the pillow under her head. “Are you going to leave me?” She asked around a yawn. The silence in her room spurred her to open her eyes once more and found him still present and standing beside her, his face neutral, but his eyes shifted towards the wall at the head of her bed. 

“Sleep, lethallan.” He finally spoke and a warm hand set atop her head. 

As the world bled away, her thoughts started to postulate that he was capable of willing her to sleep either with just the sound of his voice, or a gentle stroke of magic. She just couldn’t figure out which.


	10. Chapter 10

They had almost made it to Redcliffe without confrontation. She had taken the time to seal the last rift in the immediate area and it had barely sidetracked them from the most direct route. This was what she got for trying to do something right, tripped right into a little nest of red Templars complete with Venatori marionettes. They had each worked themselves into suitable positions, Bull charging ahead and Dorian pairing off to keep him decently looked after with a near constant barrier. Solas had then taken to the offensive and she had stood near him to pick off the pair of archers and any potential threat that he could not divide his attention for.

Solas left her side with a barrier across her skin as he pushed into the seemingly final fray. Ivuni had scanned the surrounding area for any other potential archers hidden in the surrounding environment and forced her site to tune into rogue movements that her companions would often initially miss. She attributed the knife at her throat poor attention on her part, reasoning she had been too focused on what was in front of her rather than what could slink up behind her. 

It had been mindless on her part.

“Call off the hounds, little knife-eared bitch.” His voiced hissed against her ear, the sharper edge of his blade pressing into the skin above her left collarbone.

“And if I don’t?” She countered, venom laced around her tongue. When the blade bit deeper and slipped through the surface of her skin, the scent of copper hit her full force. “There are three of them and soon to be one of you. I don’t see you walking away from this.”

Dorian had made quick work of two Templars already by dredging up the dead. Somewhat near him, Solas pushed a wall of ice forward to encompass the last red Templar to still him, leaving him only exposed from the neck up, until Bull stepped forward and relieved him of his head. 

“They’re going to kill you, regardless if you draw a deep line across my throat or not.” She added.

“You honestly think they would risk your life?” His left hand reached up and wrapped around her jaw, lifting her chin slightly higher into the air and turning it so he his lips brushed the point of her ear when his lips moved. “You mean too much to them and your childish organization playing shadow hunters in the night. The Elder One would see your head on a pike and I will deliver you to him myself.”

“Ugh.” Ivuni groaned. “Always something with that asshole. You ask if I think they will risk my life as you promise to take me to be murdered if you make it out of here with me as some sort of shield. You are awful at this. So again,” she sighed and enunciated her next words more carefully for him, “I do not see you walking away from this.”

“Venatori scum.” Bull’s sneered and drew her attention, forcing her to look as far down as she could manage to notice both him and Dorian within her awful visual field. “Let the pretty one go, and I’ll leave your spine inside your body.”

The Venatori offered a tut of disapproval and she felt the blade bite ever so slightly deeper. “That is not how you begin a negotiation.”

“There is nothing to negotiate.” She growled even as the grip he held around her jaw squeezed tighter. “Just kill him.”

“Darling, I do enjoy your head firmly attached to your body.” Dorian argued. “It makes the complete package all the more lovely when it is still in place.”

“Solas.” She gave a grunt when her attacker tilted her chin further, forcing her to lean her head back against his shoulder. “Please kill him.”

A squawking drew her attention away from the sky to the overhanging branches of an oak tree, and she fixed on a raven. Part of her mind registered Dorian offering an awful attempt at reasoning with the Venatori seeking to use her as leverage or ransom before Solas’s voice cut through, insisting they were both being ridiculous. She wanted to snap at them, but the raven ruffled its own feathers briefly and dipped its head in her direction, giving her a clear view of its one blue eye. It was like the sky at dusk.

The blade bit deeper and she sucked in a steadying breath, pressing her eyes shut. Bull and Dorian’s voices both insisted the Venatori ‘wait’ and the tension behind the blade briefly slackened. 

Ivuni exhaled slowly, willing her heart to slow its pace as she slowly lifted her right hand towards her lower back. Her captor was pressed so tightly against her from behind that her fingers advanced with caution towards the hilt of the blade that Bull had helped her select at the circle market. If her three companions were so content to take their time bothering to negotiate her freedom, then she was going to take it into her own hands.

She wrapped her hand firmly around the knife’s handle, quickly drew the blade free and shoved it upward beneath the Venatori’s ribs once, then withdrew the item, only to push back into the same place. Blood warmed her knuckles even as the knife he held in his own right had pressed deeper into the soft tissue at the corner of her neck and left shoulder. 

A snap of electricity prompted her skin to prickle and offered her a momentary opening to turn her head slightly and bite into the meaty base of the Ventori’s left thumb. Ice coiled about her legs and up over her hip and left shoulder near instantly, locking her together with the man at her back. The realization that her right arm was free of the encasement, meant her attacker’s could be as well if he released the blade held frozen against her throat, addled a sudden surge in panic until Bull’s large form filled her view. His axe lifted upward and then descended rapidly, ending in the wet popping of flesh and bone being cleaved. 

“He’s bleeding all over me, isn’t he?” Her nose wrinkled.

“At least red is a good color on you.” Dorian reasoned, his voice so much closer to her. “Try to keep still.” He instructed and the slowly blooming presence of heat against the left side of her body set to thawing her out. As the ice gave, Bull took hold of the limp right arm that sat still slung over her shoulder. The blade against her throat finally gave when the ice melted and he pushed the lifeless form backward and away from her. 

A hand clamped over her throat and she shifted her eyes towards Solas, a frown puckering his brows as warmth spread form the contact he initiated, disapproval in his eyes. “That was reckless.” He murmured to her. 

“I asked you to kill him.” She insisted, voice hoarse, her own features tightening. 

“It would have been handled.” He countered.

“He’s dead now.” Bull pointed out, attempting to curb the threatening escalation.

“Sorry that I don’t take well to being called a knife-eared bitch.” Ivuni bit at her tongue and made every attempt to keep from rolling her eyes or scowling at him in reply. “Rubs me the wrong way.”

The ice around her legs cracked and split in half. The sudden absence of a body against her back or the ice to keep her on her feet, tipped her off balance as the blood flow in her lower limbs struggled to right itself. A familiar arm slipped around the small of her back to keep her upright and she set her hand against his forearm.

“Bull?” She rasped.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Can you pull my knife out of him?”

He chuckled. “No problem.” 

“I like that one.”

“I know you do.” He assured her. 

“And you thought this was a good idea.” Dorian mused.

“I could have brought you here without giving you the reasoning.” She tried to turn to look at him, but the hand at her throat kept her still. 

Dorian sighed in frustration. “Or we could have avoided coming here all together.”

Ivuni tipped her head slightly testing out the feel of her neck and one of the vertebrae popped. “No point running from it.” She said. “Well, no point running from _him_ to be more precise.”

“I’m just curious why you cared enough to bother with this mess.” Dorian stepped around Solas so that she could look at him over the other elf’s shoulder. “This has nothing to do with the Inquisition.”

“What affects you is important to me.”

“Dorian shook his head. “Why?”

Ivuni felt the frown before she could stop it, and her words jumped off her tongue before she could wrangle them back. “Have you never had a friend before?” The tone was not intended, but the honest curiosity was well placed. It seemed to have struck a nerve, however, and Dorian withdrew further inquiry. 

Solas’s hand drew away from her throat and he assessed the progress. “How are your legs?” He asked without meeting her eyes. 

She inclined her muscles to work, stretched them and shifted against him, taking some of her weight out of his grasp and onto her own feet. “I think I’m all right now.” She murmured. His release of her was hesitant, but she gave him a reassuring smile as she turned back towards the road. For a moment she glanced back up towards the oak tree to seek the raven, but it was already gone.

The rest of the short trek to Redcliffe was carried on without issue. A few of the people offered verbal greetings to them upon their arrival, others just a slight tip of their heads or hats. 

“I like their hats.” A soft voice spoke and a woman startled somewhat beside her.

“Cole.” Ivuni smiled, her attempt at scolding the boy suddenly appearing dying before it could ever fully develop on her tongue. 

“Made by mother’s own hands last winter before the poppies grew.” He spoke again, and stepped ahead of her. “Waiting in the tavern. Worry, anger, frustration about why you left.” He added as he moved up beside Dorian.

“Yes, thank you.” The Mage shook his head. 

Dorian had taken lead with Bull just beside him, until Cole stepped between them and looked up at the taller figure. “I like your horns, The Iron Bull. But they’re dragon horns, not bull horns. You could have named yourself The Iron Dragon.”

“Oh shit.” Bull exclaimed as he briefly came to pause, looking down at the smaller form who held his gaze. “That would have been better.”

“There is nothing wrong with your name.” Cole replied and their steps took them back to catch up with Dorian. 

“But it could have been better.” Bull almost _whined_.

 

The sun had set by the time they had left the tavern behind. 

“Dorian.” She said his name with care because that was how she wanted him to feel he was being treated, because that was what one offered someone cared for when they were potentially very fragile. There was no indication on his part that he had heard her, but she wasn’t naïve enough to believe he hadn’t.

It had been easy to follow him out to the docks, his sudden departure had been physical rather than magical. And it could have been. He could have tugged on the edge of the veil, warped it to his whims and pulled himself far from that place with only a few steps. If he had truly wished to be far from that place, it would have been so. The escape was simply a momentary action sought and taken, a change to be away from what troubled him.

Ivuni bit her lip and simply folded her hands behind herself and stood beside him. If he wanted silence, she would allow him to have it, but she would not allow him to feel abandoned. 

“It’s selfish, I suppose.” He finally spoke, quietly. Instead of pressing him, she allowed him his thoughts and his time. “Not to want to spend my entire life screaming from the inside out.”

When he looked at her, she pressed her lips into a soft line and sighed before she let her mouth slide back into its natural frame. “That is not selfish, Dorian.” Wanting to be oneself was not in the slightest selfish. “No living thing wants to be caged.”

He smiled very briefly and then pulled his gaze from her, casting it out across the harbor. “That is simply the way of the world.” He murmured. “Did you not get the memo?”

“I have not known you for a great period of time yet,” she left her words to hang briefly to emphasize that she intended to know him more as time allowed, “but coming here, facing your father when it would have been easy to ignore or disregard his summoning…that is very brave.” 

“You’ll make me blush yet.” The hint of a smirk smile toyed with the right side of his mouth. “I apologize, if I may have led you astray with our playful banter in the field. I hope your tender heart is not completely broken by this uncovered bit of information about me; that would cause me…a great deal of distress.” 

Ivuni shook her head, a smile finally taking hold. “I had you pegged within the first five minutes of meeting you.”

He scoffed at her. “Five minutes? Truly?”

“I’m Dalish, Dorian.” She nudged him in the shoulder. “We’re not as hung up on who we sleep with quite like humans are, therefore we don’t hide it.”

“I was obviously born the wrong race in the wrong kingdom.” He mused, his eye taking on a dreamy quality as he seemed to consider such a notion.

“Yes, you would have done so well travelling by foot and aravel between wilds and towns. I could imagine you weaving lemon grass baskets and picking wildflowers. Or skinning game and preparing it for the evening supper.” Ivuni sighed, set a hand against her chest, teasingly. “You’d make such a beautiful Dalish hou–”

“That’s enough.” He held a hand up to halt the progression of her thought.

She smiled and folded her hands behind her. “I give.”

They stood in companionable silence, letting their gazes slide back out over the quiet harbor and she wondered how many more of these humans she would venture to draw close to herself. The Dalish part of her brain insisted she push them all back, that letting them get too close to her was dangerous, that they would each betray her in the end. But in the end, she could very well end up dead. She had no idea if she would ever leave the Inquisition, or ever see her clan again for that matter. And that was what she was missing, the familiar companionship, even if some still held her at length. Even if– 

“Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn’t what I expected…but it was something. I am grateful for your company.” There was a genuine sincerity in his voice, and in his eyes when she turned to look at him again. And there was why she let him slip beyond the barrier she tried to hold between herself and the world.

“That’s what friends are for.” She shrugged her shoulders. For a long moment, he simply stared down at her, his dark eyes shifting between her own as though he were trying to scope the expanse of her thoughts and soul. I didn’t escape her the reasoning. She lifted her right hand her side and set it against his left cheek. “You are a good person, Dorian Pavus.”

He tilted himself briefly into her touch. “How do you do it?”

She felt her brows pinch, confusion slipping in. “Do what?”

“Care so much.” It wasn’t accusatory, but more wondering. “You offer this free given… _compassion_ all the time.” He lifted his hand and covered her own that still cradled the side of his face. 

“I think you have Cole and I confused.” She smiled at him again. 

Dorian shook his head. “No, it’s different, and maybe attributing compassion to you is the wrong term, or perhaps it’s too limiting.”

“Now you’re going to make _me_ blush.”

A chuckle slipped between his lips and she felt her heart settle. “I have never had many friends,” he confessed, seeming to double back towards her question from earlier in the day, “but I am honored to be able to count you among their small number. If you’ll truly have me as such”

A warm smile slid across her features. “Dorian,” She giggled, “do you want to braid my hair and mull over past loves?”

“I would be delighted.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Herald, you’ve returned.” The Keeper greeted once more, and Ivuni tried not to grimace at the designation he offered her. From the humans it was already sour against her ears, from one of her own it was plain uncomfortable.

“I’ve destroyed the demons on your sacred ground.” She replied, glad to be of help to her own people once more.

“You were successful.” It seemed almost a question more though than a statement. A guarded sort of joy. “You have put an old man’s heart at ease, thank you. You’ve done us a great kindness.” He set a hand against his chest, but the thanks he offered was more than she had expected. He was a Keeper and had asked for help. She was a clansmember and was obliged to offer what she could. His given gratitude would have more so suited a human. Still, she was grateful that he offered it at all. “I am Keeper Hawen.”

She gave a dip of her own head. “My name is Ivuni.” She offered simply. “These are my friends.” She gestured by lifting her left arm and sweeping it slightly away from her side. 

The Keeper’s features hardened and his posture straightened. “Lavellan.” He said the name carefully as though he was trying to keep from overly revealing his opinion, then he grunted. “The young huntress that refuses to take a bond mate.”

It felt as though someone had doused her in ice water. Ivuni drew in a steadying breath and bit the tip of her tongue to keep from snapping back too quickly. “I think you are mistaken.”

“There is only one elf I know that goes by your name.” He replied. “One of Clan Lavellan’s youngest hunters.” The statement was a fact that she could not argue. “It is common knowledge amongst clans that Keeper Deshanna’s foster refuses to bond, da’len.”

With a sharp sigh, she stood herself straighter. “I will say it again, _hahren_ , you are mistaken.” Ivuni squared her shoulders. “I did not come here to fight with you or any member of your clan. We met one of your hunters and he pointed us in your direction. We have driven the demons from Var Bellanaris as you have requested.” She wanted to bite at her lips until they bred in order to keep her composure. “We are simply seeking information about the area and to potentially trade if you will allow it.”

Hawen regarded her silently before he shifted his weight from one hip to the other, folded his arms across his chest, and was suddenly unwilling to yield where he had been welcoming during their first meeting. When he wanted something from her. Now she was defined by what he wanted to attribute to her rather than her actions.

With a frustrated huff, Ivuni turned on her heel and marched away from the Dalish camp. Never before in her life had disrespect resonated to achingly raw and misplaced. She was used to the occasional backhanded comments by a few members of her clan, the sideways looks, the disregard and disdain offered by humans; but this was entirely different. A Dalish _Keeper_ thought he knew how to address her, fed on gossip rather than inquiring directly. 

She didn’t glance at anyone as she cut through the Plains though she was aware of Sera and Dorian swapping hushed words, Solas’s familiar steps shadowing hers yet allowing her a decent measure of space, Bull’s long strides calculated to keep from overtaking her own. It was Varric that moved up beside her, his shorter stature forcing him to jog just to keep with her angry stride. 

“If you want to talk, Dimples, I want you to know there are ears that will listen.” He offered. 

“Thank you, Varric.” She forced a smile to her face. 

A dwarf, her friend, was far more accommodating to her that someone that considered himself one of her people was. 

Her direction towards the northern camp took them through stumbling corpses and Freemen that they laid out with little effort. Every arrow drawn and released should have helped to curb her frustration, but every spray of blood, every opponent felled, just added to her growing ire. She was so bloated by her anger that her thoughts foolishly circled the idea that she could have brought down the Gamordan dragon in the area all on her own. The sight of the camp inching into view, however, garnered the appreciation of her companions and she noted a shift in her emotions once more. There would be no dragon hunting for the immediate future, especially not with the sun slipping towards the horizon. 

The scouts reacted to their presence and milled about camp as they crossed the warded lines and everyone seemed to drop all of their things with collected sighs of relief. She didn’t linger long enough to take count of everyone and everything in its place. She dropped her pack near one of the tents and then took a direct line out of camp to the west, not waiting for anyone’s words or motions to follow. She didn’t need a shadow or anyone to talk her ear off.

She was content to make her way alone and she didn’t want to have to pretend to entertain anyone.

As soon as the riverbank came into view, she slipped her bow and quiver from her shoulders and set them against a smooth rock formation. Then her hands went immediately to work on the ties and fasteners of her leather armor and mail. Her bloodied scarf was first, then the leather tunic and pauldrons. She unlinked the mail and drew the top over her head and let it fall where it pleased before tugging at the strappings of the leather thigh guards and greaves. She half-stripped, half-ripped her wear off of herself until she was finally able to stalk nude into the tepid river. 

It was not just an attempt to clean herself of dirt and gore. She waded out until the water was chest level before she fully submerged herself. She drew her knees upward so that her feet lifted away from the riverbed and then she opened her mouth and screamed, briefly cocooning herself with a plumage of bubbles. Her lungs and her heart clenched in protest, but it was more than just a physical feat, or a physical reaction, or a physical _thing_. Letting her feet settle against the silty floor beneath her, she pushed away enough to break the water’s surface so that she could draw in another breath and then lazily sunk back below again. The second scream was far more tempered and it stuttered near the end. When she drew her knees upward it was to hug them against her body and bury her face as though she were hiding away from prying eyes. Half a breath still trapped in her lungs, she let herself float suspended without rushing upward.

Shaking her thoughts, she pushed her fingers through her hair and unwound the braids until the thick red strands fanned around her, suspended in the all but faint current. Her hands reached about herself and rubbed at her skin, flicking and pushing grime away until she decided she was relatively clean. If she could have held her breath any longer, she would have stayed there and hid away. The burning in her lungs prompted her to exhale the remaining air trapped in her chest and it fluttered upward, so she gave chase.

When she resurfaced and pushed her hands through her hair, movement in her periphery drew her attention back towards the shore. Solas was reclined against one of the boulders just beside her bow, hands together on his chest and his seemingly sleeping face turned towards the sky. Somewhat near him sat Sera with her bow in hand and an arrow drawn taut, pointed at the sky and a flock of geese passing overhead. The bowstring snapped in release and within a few moments one of the geese fell dead against the ground.

She stroked her arms through the water with ease to bring herself back towards the shore until her feet touched once more and she could walk herself out of it. Ivuni swallowed as she fought to find the words to offer them, but nothing came forward. She was aware of the fact that she stood in ankle deep water, naked as a bird, with her hair slithered over either of her shoulders offering her the slightest trace of modesty. Not that it bothered her, though her companions she wasn’t overly sure about.

“Here.” Sera spoke as she rose to her feet, beige bundle in her hands. She set her own bow against the ground as she unfolded the worn cloth and moved towards her with it spread out. Ivuni stepped forward and reached a single arm half out to accept the offered item, but Sera instead stepped into her personal space and wrapped the cloth and her arms around her. “Get you dried off.” She murmured, and set to work doing just that. “No funny business, Glowbug.” And the endearment chased the hint of a smile to her mouth. Once content, Sera wrapped the cloth around her and tucked in one of the ends and then she reached for her hair and gathered it together, drawing it over Ivuni’s left shoulder before she twisted it in her hands to wring out the excess water. “Back to camp so I can pluck and roast this bird, yeah?”

She gave a nod and was aware of Solas sliding from his perch and gathering up her things.

The walk back to camp was a silent one, but the overwhelming cacophony of emotions that had racked her during their trek there from the Dalish camp was for the moment, stilled inside of her. No one said anything as they breached the circle and Sera guided her with a hand to her upper back towards the tent she had initially dropped her gear near. “Your pack’s inside if you want to cover them bits. I mean, you can sit out here naked for all I care, but Dorian might stare.”

Without further exchange, Sera released her from her charge and she slipped into the tent. She stepped far enough to stand in the middle, her slightly shorter stature allowing her to actually stand without her head hitting the canvas ceiling. For a long few moments she simply stood there, silently, her mind blank.

“They are all with you.” A voice brushed up against her thoughts and she let her eyes slide shut, familiar words from a familiar spirit. “Bare faced, but still a clan, still caring.” He didn’t move in the slightest and she turned to glance at him over her shoulder. “They want to know why it hurts. An old pain, hiding. And he wants to know.”

She swallowed and wondered whom exactly he is referring to, as she was constantly surrounded by many individuals that would qualify as ‘he’, so as with many of his riddled references, she was forced to guess. “He wants to make it right.” Cole added. 

Ivuni offered him a tight smile then and a shallow nod of her head and drew on a pair of linen pants and a simple top that often slid from one shoulder or the other. Then she hesitated and dug through her bag, sliding out a band that she secured about her chest in order to maintain some modicum of decency for the humans. When she turned back around, Cole was gone. She inhaled a breath that quivered its way into her chest and stepped back out of the tent.

Everyone was quiet, gathered around the fire with a plate or a cup, but her eyes barely numbered each of them by sight when her focus was stolen by the familiar form of Hawen and a young woman who stood at his side, staff in hand. She watched the woman poke him in the shoulder and he turned to look at her. 

“My First believes you have something to share with me.” Hawen ventured as he stood from the small trunk he had assumed as a seat. She wondered if this Keeper was who Cole had indicated with ‘he’.

When she looked at the elf that was indirectly designated as Hawen’s first, dark brown eyes stared back at her. Something familiar in their depth, but she had no idea who she was. She forced herself to leave her teeth and lips where they were meant to be rather then rolling them inward and biting down. Her focus swept towards her people and they all looked at her.

“We can all…go somewhere else, boss.” Bull insisted and hesitantly rose to his feet.

She offered him a half-hearted smile that held for little longer than a breath before it fell. Then she shook her head. “That isn’t necessary.” 

They are all with you.

Her hands went absentmindedly to her abdomen where she set her fingers and pressed against the fabric as though she needed to smooth out a few wrinkles – a nervous tick – as she stepped closer to the circle and took the nearest seat, which put her beside Dorian. He handed her a warm mug and she lifted it upward to draw in the scent of spices and citrus.

“I met Maeniel when I was six and he was eight. He was born to the Nihralen clan.” She jumped right into it, afraid if she faltered or tried to piece together a better opening that her fear would get the better of her. “Every autumn when our clans crossed paths and spent the season within reach of one another, he and I would pair off. We went on a great many adventures. We got into so much trouble.” A trace smile teased at her lips as the memories came to life where only she could see.

“When I was seventeen, he approached Deshanna about bonding. I accepted because he was my friend, a great hunter, and I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love him?” Sera interjected.

“Yes.” She replied carefully as she considered the feelings that she had had for him, something she had done her entire life. “I loved him, but I was not ever _in love_ with him.” And he had known that. He had confessed the same thing to her himself. He had told her that his clan traded with and camped with near a dozen others intermittently in the north and he had never felt ‘that thing’ for anyone. He had told her that she was his best friend and had felt that bonding with her was the best course of action. He cited it was better than agreeing to it with a complete stranger that their clans could potentially encourage if they waited around too long

“So you got married?” The other archeress pressed.

Ivuni let her gaze slide away from Sera, but refused to lift them to anyone else as she nodded. “Yes, and the following morning we went on a hunt.” It was expected, to provide one last time for her clan before she would leave them for another. “We got up early, hoping to help with breakfast.” Long before the sun had even threatened to paint the sky in faintest daylight. “There were two human brothers that we happened upon in the woods,” she smirked, “humans are easier to notice, regardless of how seasoned they are. We let them know of our presence and an otherwise silent acknowledgement was made; they kept to the ground and we kept to the trees. We split near a river, they opted to follow it north and we headed towards the impending mountain range. Deer and hart trails were easy enough to find.

“There were plenty of yearlings to pick from, but I was never of the mind to hunt the young – they rarely feed many, anyway – so we pushed on until prints in the dirt and fallen foliage broadened. It wasn’t long before we happened upon two well fed and mature does grazing without a care in the world.” Ivuni sighed and the story shifted, her grip on her mug tightening. It were those moments she wondered if magic would snap uncontrolled and give her emotions away had she been born a Mage. “It was a scream that ripped through the forest that prompted us to abandon our quarry. Maeniel dropped to the ground and raced back as I skipped quickly through the upper branches.

“They were shouting before I even reached them, confusion and fear so thick you could almost reach out and pluck it with your fingertips.” And she did so for emphasis. “They had felled a doe, and for some reason a bull had charged into the clearing. It had gored one of the brothers through the side which made him half useless even as he struggled to keep his footing and kept his hand pressed tightly against the bleeding wound.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t run off to save itself until I realized it was slightly cornered amongst the trees.” Still, she often wondered if it would have abandoned its mate or not given the opportunity.

“Maeniel pivoted between them and managed to square against the bull with seeming ease, wrapping his hands about the antlers to keep them from tearing through anyone else. The other brother stood back and out of the immediate area with his bow drawn trying to target the animal as it continuously tried to throw Maeniel off and he yelled for the other boy to shoot while he held the buck as steady as he could manage. And he did. He released the arrow and would have shot true, right through the buck’s heart, until it threw its head.” Ivuni grimaced at the memory and let her gaze fall towards her feet. “The movement drew Maeniel right into the arrow’s path.” She shook her head and then lifted her chin, shifted gaze up towards the night sky in response to the familiar feel of threatening tears. “It was an accident.”

The constellation of the Dragon loomed overhead. “I don’t even remember having pulled my bow free or knocking an arrow. I just remember him falling to the ground with a heavy thud before the deer turned towards the second brother. Somehow I put myself in front of him and loosed an arrow, then reached for a second, and then a third, burying each straight through its chest until it huffed and fell over.”

“I made the humans follow, made them help me carry him back to camp. Both clans were quickly up in arms, but that happens when a dead elf is returned to camp with two humans in tow. They wanted blood, and the boys offered it, willingly. All I could manage over and over again was, ‘it was an accident’. Deshanna somehow quelled the rising anger of the clans and took the injured brother to an aravel and set to healing him. I helped her, but I don’t remember much of it, and then she allowed both of the humans to leave.” Ivuni shifted slightly and lifted her focus to rest on Hawen. “It was an accident.” Because that was what it had been truly. “And every year to the day, those boys show up at our camp with a pair of deer to offer. Nothing is said, no argument or quarrel is ever offered, and then they leave again.” 

They had offered their own lives as payment in the immediate wake of it all and had either of the two clans accepted, no one would have ever known or found out what had become of a pair of young hunters in the woods. But that would have made them murderers, and it would have accomplished nothing more than two more dead bodies to bury or burn. It would have been a waste. Pure and undiluted vengeance, no trace of justice. It would have made tem no better than the humans the Dalish loved to hate.

A figure stepped before her and then crouched down so that he could look up at her. Hawen lifted his arms from his sides and set his hands around hers, a tightness to his eyes. “My apologies, da’len.” Hawen managed, his voice hoarse. “I have disgraced myself with my words and my actions.” He leaned forward and set his brow against their joined hands. “I am an old fool.”

“Keeper –”

“No, da’len,” He cut her off and looked up at her once more. “I have not yet earned your forgiveness.” He swallowed. “We would trade with you whatever you will and my clan will beckon to your call should you send it.” Then Hawen leaned his forehead once more against their joined hands before he pushed himself to his feet, released her, and turned and stalked off into the dark.

Ivuni found his First lingering the absence he allowed. “He said you thought he needed to hear that.”

The young woman smiled, warmth in her gaze. “Maeniel was my brother.” Her smile broadened when Ivuni frowned. “I was little more than knees and elbows when last we met.”

Then the familiarity aligned. “Avriel.” 

“So you do remember my name.” She gushed, then seemed to sober. “Hawen once attempted to offer his son to Deshanna to pair with you and she refused. Said you weren’t ready and Hawen and other clans took that as a refusal to bond. He wasn’t the first or the only to make the attempt, though.” Avriel shook her head and sought her smile again. “It has been a long time since I have heard anyone speak about my brother. It was nice, regardless of the memory.” Her hands and her staff shifted behind her. “Thank you.” The crystal at the top of her staff ignited a gentle glow and then she turned to follow after her Keeper’s steps.

The camp sat in continued silence long after the pair had left. She set her cup down between herself and Dorian and his fingers curled briefly about her own, offering her a gentle squeeze before releasing her. Without any bid or well wishes for dreams, she rose from her seat and padded quietly back to her tent. There was little in the way of preparing herself further for bed aside from shimmying out of her pants and burying herself beneath blankets and furs. 

Another body moved into the tent and she watched him carefully set his staff and pack down before he slipped off his belt and vest. Then he seemed to follow the same last few steps she had by unrolling and burying himself under a pile of blankets and furs.

For a long while she stared at him in silence, fixated on the paler blue of his eyes, and he stared back. There was something calming about sharing a space with someone without feeling some overwhelming need to fill the void with words. She snuggled deeper into her covers, her eyes remaining fixed to his until someone finally snuffed out the fire and she could only make out the outline and silhouette of his blankets around him and the faint line of his ear and the side of his head in the dark. She wasn’t sure how much longer she stayed awake and continued to stare without being able to home in on his eyes, but at some point the lull of the Fade drew her into dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

She pushed her hair out of her face and turned enough to find Sera bent over with her hands on her knees as she huffed in a few deep shaky and stuttering breaths. The blonde offered her a grin and a wink. Somewhat over Sera’s shoulder, she noted Cassandra carefully sheathing her sword at her left hip and slipping her shield onto her back. Cassandra’s focus seemed taken completely by Solas and the flickering form of who she assumed to be Wisdom.

The spirit was beautiful, if a spirit could be described as such. The form she wore on this side of the veil was elven, hair that swept her ears and barely brushed her shoulders. Her clothing was simple, that somewhat akin to basic wear that one might don before fitting themselves with robes or armor and she wondered if all spirits sought to present themselves in such a way, simple. In Crestwood they had been met with spirits that appeared more wraith-like, but they hummed and glowed differently. This was even more so wholly other.

Wisdom exuded a subtle green glow and a warmth that permeated the entire area that had been encircled by the summoning stones. So much so that she felt compelled to take a single step forward and bit her lips to stifle the surprised gasp that wanted to issue forth. It was like stepping into a warm pool that felt…felt like…being with Deshanna. Felt like she could ask her any questions and she would formulate an answer for her if she had one to produce, then she would smile at her nerve to ask. It was almost…overwhelming, and she forced herself beyond the spirit’s influence, tethering her mind to Solas’s kneeling form.

“I’m sorry.” He told her, his voice morose, his gaze falling away to his hands as if he could find the answer in them.

“I’m not. I’m Happy. I’m me again.” Wisdom insisted. “You helped me. Now you must endure.” Her voice dimmed. “Guide me into death.”

He turned his head as if to decline, wanted to decline, wavering. “As you say.” His voice quivered. “Safe journey.” He lifted his arms out towards her, his hands turned up as though to accept her or reach out to take her face in between his palms. Instead his magic shuddered and appeared to coil around Wisdom’s slackened form before she slowly scattered, a brief trail of light left in her wake before the essence of her being returned to the Fade.

She had no idea what happened to spirits after they died. She had assumed they lingered perpetually in the Fade. That the twisted versions of them that fell through the rifts were banished back across the Veil. The thought that they could truly die was something she had never considered before. But the way he sat on his heels after Wisdom fell away from him, fell away from the world, inclined that this was more than a simple farewell that would allow them to meet up again in their dreams. She wanted to ask what would happen to her, but fear kept her mouth from forming the words. Fear of angering him, fear of driving him away. There was already a humming at the back of her thoughts that he _would_ leave. 

Ivuni swallowed as she peeled herself away from Cassandra and Sera and moved towards the man kneeling ahead of her. “I heard what it said.” She chose her words carefully and offered them delicately. “It was right. You did help it.”

He tilted his head slightly as he if he wanted to turn towards her, but instead he lifted his chin and appeared to focus back on the place his friend had just occupied. “And now I must endure.”

She wanted to reach for him, take his face between her hands, draw him against herself, and assure him that he wasn’t alone nor did he have to be. “Let me know if I can help.” She wanted to chase away the somber ache in his voice, find the inquisitive Mage that occasionally smiled and offered his own wisdom to the willing, draw him back out.

He rose back to his feet and exhaled as he turned to face her. “You already have.” His eyes shifted back and forth between hers and she straightened when he hesitated in stepping towards her, his attention settling on the left side of her face and then seemed to sweep towards her ear. His brows knit together when he looked beyond her. “All that remains now is them.”

The Mages tried to offer their thanks for being rescued, tried to apologize for their actions, tried to insist they thought they were doing the right thing. They pleaded for some measure of mercy, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop him as he advanced on them. She should have, she should have been able to call to him, to beg him to be above them, but the words never came, they sat idle on the back of her tongue even after he set fire to their lifeless bodies.

“Damn them all.” He rolled his hands into fists. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.” And then he walked away from them without looking back, without offering any further words. And against the pounding in her chest that wanted to reach out, she let him slip away as he wished to without objection.

They traded a few provisions with Hawen’s clan and then packed camp. The Keeper asked if one of his could leave with them to Skyhold to join the Inquisition and Ivuni gladly accepted the young hunter once he affirmed it was his own desire to follow. It took near seven days to return to Skyhold, two spent hunkered down to wait out a rolling and seemingly endless thunderstorm that battered the edge of the Plains in torrential rain and lightning. 

Loranil proved exceedingly inquisitive, enough so that Ivuni wondered if she could hand the mantle of ‘Inquisitor’ over to him. He constantly tripped over how to address her. Fumbling with terms like ‘Keeper’ and ‘Herald’ until she insisted he simply address her with her own name. He asked her about her faith, her childhood, the trails that her clan frequented, what it was like to have old magic seared into her palm. He asked what it was like to be surrounded by so many shems, he asked if they were cruel to her and seemed surprised that they treated her with respect, to which she confessed that at times it still caught her off guard. His presence was…welcome. In Solas she had first established a comfort level with someone who shared her race, with Sera she had found a kindred soul in their arrows and bows, now she was gifted a Dalish that looked at her with questions and bright eyes.

He took quickly to Varric who offered him a multitude of stories that held his attention long after each of the rest of them turned to their bedrolls and the fires burned low enough that they had to huddle over the embers. The sound of them swapping stories and plucking at each other’s details had her sighing with ease each night. It helped with Solas’s absence, helped ease her mind, helped chase her likely unnecessary concern over his wellbeing and safety away from the Inquisition. Loranil’s addition to their number brought a counter weight against everything that stood against her, and she smiled into her pillow once more as sleep tangled her into a dreaming stated.

 

“Who puts a castle…there?” He pressed when they reached the crest of the ridge that swept towards the impending keep.

“Well, the name is somewhat fitting of its locale.” Dorian stated as he moved to stand beside Loranil. “Tarasyl’an Te’las.”

“The place of…the place of the sky that…” The hunter tried piecing the old language together.

“The place where the sky was held back.” Ivuni supplied and he smiled at her.

Loranil frowned when he looked back at the keep. “It doesn’t look like any elven structure I’d have imagined.”

“This current one is definitely more modern in age.” Dorian insisted as he folded his arms. “Somewhat Ferelden-esque if you want my opinion, hard and cold, somewhat drafty, very little in the way of dazzling beauty.”

“Then why the elven name?” 

“You can feel it in the ground.” Ivuni said, somewhat breathy as she drew her cloak more securely about herself. “It…whispers.” Or something rather similarly. 

“It _sings_.” Cole offered suddenly to her left.

“Yes.” She agreed, quietly.

“I thought you said you weren’t a Mage.” Dorian tilted his head.

Ivuni smirked. “I thought you said you had heard that elves used to breathe magic.”

“That’s the rumor.” Dorian smirked. “You elves are supposed to be like magic incarnate.”

“Solas insists he’s never pissed it before in his life.” Sera snorted. “Not sure I believe him.”

Ivuni smiled in spite of the dull ache that thrummed to life behind her ribs. A part of her that wanted to scold and berate herself for feeling such…melancholy, but the sting was there in the wake of his continued absence. Shaking herself and her thoughts, she made herself move forward towards the waiting keep, a measure of delight finding her as Loranil prattled on with further questions that Dorian seemed willing and excited to answer for him.

 

“Exile.” She decided, her voice hollow, she attempted to keep her own thoughts over his actions out of her response, tried to keep them from affecting her choice. If she were offering true justice, perhaps, she should have claimed his head. That was what the humans would have wanted. Wasn’t it? Perhaps that was unfair of her to assume. There was nothing kind in this task that had been created for her. In essence, she had been slated with deciding whether or not people brought before her lived or died. That was not fair. It should not fall to a single individual; that allowed for far too much power for one soul to manage or bear. 

Ivuni swallowed and fixed her gaze on Dedrick as he looked up at her. He said nothing. He begged for nothing. He had given his testimony and there was truth in it. There was no known cure for the blight. He had taken actions he thought would save his people, even if it damned others. He had been put in a difficult situation and he had made a choice.

Much as she was when she was herded to the throne she sat upon to met out her own judgement. 

She tried to keep her unease out of her eyes and held her features as neutral as she could manage as Crestwood’s once mayor was taken by his upper arms and hauled out of the hall. There was no way that she could sentence him to death for acting in a fashion she was currently imitating. Exile granted him a chance to reevaluate himself and his choices and to amend himself to the world if that was what he sought. It at least gave him the choice. 

It was difficult to work up the nerve to execute someone when their crime hadn’t been meant to wound or kill. Perhaps she would regret this decision one day. Or perhaps she would be grateful that she made it. Only time would tell.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine drew her focus and she looked over at the pretty woman. There was an imploring quality to the other woman’s gaze and Ivuni realized she must have already posed a question. Her normal reaction would be to glance around the room, but that would simply prove to those gathered that she had gotten lost.

“My apologies, Lady Montilyet.”

“Let us retire for the evening.” Josephine offered.

She watched, unfortunately with little interest, as everyone in the hall gradually dispersed. When she finally felt it safe to do so, Ivuni leaned forward and set her elbows on her knees and pressed her hands against her face and then dragged them towards her chin. “I truly am sorry.” She said as the other woman stepped closer to the dais upon which she was perched.

Josephine shook her head and waved her right hand dismissively. “There is nothing to apologize for, you are clearly exhausted. There are others that need to be seen to, but they can wait until you have had some rest.”

“We need to decide our next course of action.” She countered. “We need to respond to the growing unrest amongst the Wardens.”

“Leliana has sent scouts towards The Western Approach and more specifically Adamant.” Josephine gave a nod. “We should have a better handle on the situation within the next couple of days.”

That would be to their benefit. She had never been to Adamant Fortress so she would have no idea or thoughts to offer on an approach or a potential siege if that was what it came to. Her deferment would likely go to Cullen on the matter, yet he would likely prefer to be abreast of the current standing in regard to the fortress just as she would. Ivuni shook her head and then let it tip forward into her hands once more. She wasn’t even sure, though, how to go about approaching– 

“My Lady Inquisitor.” A voice prompted her to look up between her fingers to find a scout approaching them, his pace hastened. “We thought you may have a care to know when someone approaches the gate.”

Ivuni forced a smile to her face and sat a bit straighter. “I appreciate your diligence, though that is not necessary for every person that enters through the main gates.”

“Of course, My Lady.” He set his right fist against the left side of his chest and gave a bow. “We thought you may care that it’s the elven apostate as he did not return with you.”

She stared at him for a long while as though her brain couldn’t manage to link the information with the meaning being presented. When it clicked into place, she rose from the Inquisition’s throne without missing another beat and moved with the grace of a cat down the hall’s main walkway, her thoughts suddenly and completely consumed. 

The moment she reached the frame of the keep’s main doorway, she could make out his form moving through the gates proper. There was a familiarity to the way that he carried himself, she was starting to realize, a certain sway to his gait, a certain air to the way that he held himself, a certain angle he kept his chin in regard to the ground beneath his feet. The assessment, however clinical it might seem to her later, was more of a secondary consideration in the wake of the anticipation that crested in regard to his return. No other member of the Inquisition had yet sought to leave so she had no real idea if she would react to anyone else in such a manner, or if her need to put her eyes on him had more to do with the fluttering sensation that his presence prodded at in her chest. It made her swell and peak and ache deep inside in a way she had never experienced for another being. It was both exhilarating and…frightening.

He had kissed her back. He had to take control back when she had tried to pull away. He had pressed himself so close, so tight, so warm against her when he tipped her back. He had prodded her lips with the end of his tongue, with the bit of his teeth.

_Does it not count if it is only Fade-tongue?_

She took the stairwell with care, her eyes never leaving his form

“Inquisitor.” He greeted her and she fought, rather difficulty, to keep from frowning. 

Her feet carried her directly to him, only finding pause when she reached a distance that she would barely be able to brush his shoulder with her fingertips if she reached out for him. She shifted even as his eyes fell from her face and seemed to want to trail away somewhere far away. It was a trying feat to not reach out and lift his chin back up to make him meet her gaze. “How are you, Solas?”

“It hurts.” Then he finally did push himself to look back up at her, and she noted the way his eyes shifted between her own as though he were trying to study her or implore her for something, it was a seemingly normal action for him whenever he regarded her. “It always does, but I will survive.”

“Thank you for coming back.” She said, truly grateful, and she hadn’t realized how much so that she was until the moment the scout had informed them that he was sighted returning.

“You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help.” A feigned smile touched his features and she wanted to assure him that he didn’t need to craft one onto himself for her benefit. “I could hardly abandon you now.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she felt her head tip without instructing it to do so. _I could hardly abandon you now_. If she let herself dwell on that single statement for far too long, she would make herself sick, she knew that, so she forced herself to think elsewhere. “Where did you go?”

Solas hesitated for the briefest moment. “I found a quiet spot and I went to sleep.” He swallowed then, seeming to debate his response. “I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday something new may grow there.”

Her curiosity suddenly piqued, she tried to keep it tempered and bit her lower lip between her teeth with enough pressure she was sure she’d bruise it. Once she was sure she could proceed carefully with the construct of her question, she allowed it. “What happens when a spirit dies?” Because she had been wondering that for days already, and without him there to pose the question, she had been left to puzzle it alone as there was no one else in the entire Inquisition that she felt she could openly offer that question to without some undesirable repercussion.

He stared at her for a long moment either collecting his thoughts or wondering how she had formulated such a question. “It isn’t the same as for mortals.” He shook his head and seemed to consider folding his hands behind himself as he often did, before he apparently thought better of the action and let his hands remain at his sides. “The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.”

Somewhat akin to the idea of reincarnation, it seemed, and she felt the way the consideration roused some…anticipation into her chest and likely colored her features. “You’re saying that your friend might come back?”

His features fell. “No, not really. A spirit’s natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality.” When he looked at her again, his gaze held that quality she found lingering in his eyes when he stared up at an ancient ruin; curiosity, it seemed odd to deem him considering her with reverence. It made her swallow. “Something similar may reform, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me.” He shook his head lightly. “It would not be the friend I knew.”

That seemed a painful prospect. She wondered if it would resemble his friend in any shape or form, if it would _appear_ in some way as it had before, if he would recognize it and _know_ even if it didn’t know him. She felt her own sadness over the matter threatening to seep into her features and attempted to swallow it back. “The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

He swallowed and then briefly glanced downward, towards her feet, or the stone beneath them, she wasn’t completely sure. “It’s been so long since I could trust someone.”

“I know.” She whispered, the weight of his words were a heavy thing to bear, but she held it close to herself. She would accept them, even as heartbreaking as they were confessed from his lips. Part of her wondered how long he had been alone before he had offered himself to the Inquisitions aid. It was nothing like having a clan, and she realized in some manner that being folded into the Inquisition regardless of human numbers, was likely easier for her than it was or had been for him.

“I’ll work on it.” He replied as he drew himself back up to look at her, the faintest trace of a warm smile painting across his features. “And thank you.”

That was another constant with him. He was either caught somewhere between apologizing to her or offering thanks for her just being a decent person. “Solas.” She spoke, quietly, as she stepped towards him and lifted her hands. The motion was a hesitated one, she lifted her hands from her side, then briefly drew them back to herself trying to think better, but then she reached out towards him again and set a hand on either side of his face. She wanted to shush it all away from him, lift the world from his shoulders. “I…” She exhaled, searching for the words to offer.

He stared at her, made no move to press her for more of anything, he simply occupied his focus with just her. His right hand lifted to cup her left and she watched the way he half turned his face in against her palm, let his eyes slide shut, before he took a step back, removing himself from her hold. He turned her hand over his own and touched the most chase kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you.” He breathed.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a curious thing that she had not yet ventured there, given that she had explored and mentally mapped every other nook and cranny of the keep. She knew how many steps it took to reach the rookery from the rotunda. She knew that there was a gash the size of hand in the stone tucked somewhat behind the bookcase near the western door of Cullen’s office, and it looked like it had at one time been scorched. She knew how many bottles of wine the cellar could hold without allowing the glass to touch. She knew that the frame in the kitchen’s south wall had at one time in the keep’s life been replaced and the glass didn’t fit quite right like it should.

Useless knowledge.

Ivuni reached forward and pushed the door open slowly, it creaked lightly on its hinges as it folded back to allow her through. The sunlight poured in from directly above and there was a single member of the Inquisition working at a leisurely pace clearing dead brush from the walls; already a task halfway accomplished. The woman offered her a quick look before turning back towards her task, only to double take back at her once more. “Inquisitor!”

She shook her head and held a hand up. “Please don’t let me be a bother.” The other woman gave a nod but hesitated, mindlessly drawing a cluster of dried weeds and vines against herself as though they were precious. “Honestly,” she offered a smile, “I would just like to help. May I start here?” She gestured to the corner bed just to her right.

“That would be…that would be perfect.” The gardener nodded.

Ivuni smiled again, the familiar feel of crisp dried out leaves crinkled and crumbled beneath her feet as she crossed towards the open courtyard and its dreary offering. Cassandra had had been the one to tell her it was a garden, but it appeared more a graceyard for the dead flora that might have once existed there. “What’s your name?” She asked as she folded herself down to her knees. 

“Merana, My Lady.” She replied as she turned back towards her task. 

Ivuni sighed at the offered ‘title’ but let it be. If she went around correcting everyone and insisting they address her with her name, she would never get anything else done in a day. “It is very nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise, My Lady.”

Merana said little else while they toiled away, only responding when prompted by a question or a comment, and she would not seek to pose her own of either without carefully considering her words. It was unnerving to think it was out of some misplaced fear and she wondered what Merana had been before joining the Inquisition. Few people were outright drawn to a garden, and even fewer were drawn to one in such a current state. But here she had been, working on her own in an attempt to at least clean it up. Ivuni wondered how many days she had been at it already.

Her life had allowed for little in the way of extravagant gardening, however, most clan members kept something potted; a berry bush, a miniature fruit tree, roses, crystal grace, ferns, herbs. Oh Elwen’s tomatoes. They were so divine, perfect red skin, plump and generous fruit, buttery flavor that melted across your tongue. Elwen always rounded up all of the children when it was time to harvest the three plants that she kept well cared for, gathered them all around as she hefted one of the heavy pots forward for little bodies with little inquisitive hands to ‘ooh and ahh’ over. Then she would slice the first one and offer it out, eventually rewarded with a collective sigh of contentment.

The smile came easily in response to such memories, briefly warming her through. 

Satisfied with the cleared corner of the bed, she moved onward to the next quadrant and continued. Her fingers wrapped around low near where the roots of the plants should be, some still holding purchase in the soil while other snapped and all but crumbled in her hands. She wiped at her temple with her shoulder and continued in near quiet as the sun crept across the sky overhead. When the bed was nearly cleared, she watched Merana drag a rake across the surface of the soil to loosen it and turn out the underground weed tubers that they plucked free with effort.

A squawking drew her attention upward towards one of the walls bordering the courtyard and noted the familiar black form of a raven perched as though playing look out. It ruffled its feathers briefly before it swooped downward and across the expanse towards the overgrown gazebo where it clutched at the uppermost point and settled in. When it did little else, she narrowed her eyes and noted it had shut its own.

When Merana appeared to move on, Ivuni assessed their work and shifted her weight to stand in order to move onto the bed across the garden when the sound of clinking glasses was set beside her. Shifting, she looked up at the other woman, and then down towards half a dozen jars that she had set down beside her. 

“You should pick.” Merana informed her as she pushed back to her feet.

Upon closer inspection of the pint sized jars she noted the contents varied between seeds, roots, and bulbs. And then another armful of jars was pressed up against the others.

“Just to clear things up,” she quirked a brow as she looked up at Merana, “you won’t catch me dancing here naked beneath the moonlight attempting to bait blossoms into blooming with song.”

For a long moment, the other woman simply stared at her, and then the timid façade cracked and she lifted a hand to her mouth to muffle the tickled string of laughter that bubble up and off of her tongue. “Here.” She plucked up one of the jars that contained what appeared to be spindly roots and she smiled when Merana spoke. “I’m not sure what colors will bloom, but roses always brighten gardens.”

The gardener reached for another pair of jars. “Lavender for luck,” she held up the jar in her left hand, “and basil,” she indicated with her right hand, “to keep some unwanted insect populations at bay.”

“I take it you’ve done this before?”

Merana offered a shy smile. “I was once a gardener for Lady Anais in Halamshiral.” Her features pinched and her lips pursed. “Until the Lady learned of my…uhm…less than desirable heritage. I was turned out.”

Ivuni waited for her to continue, but Merana only seemed to turn in on herself. The other woman _appeared_ human, but that was the cinch to any other race interbreeding with humans. “Was your mother human?” 

Merana nodded. That would have made it easier for her to pass as human.

Ivuni bit at her lower lip as she considered pressing further. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” She set her and on the shoulder beside her. “No one here will judge you for the blood in your veins, I won’t allow it.” She had already made that promise to one other person out loud, but it was meant for anyone whose intention it was to better everyone around them. 

“Here.” Merana handed her one of the spindling roots and hastily drew back a hole in the bed wide enough and deep enough to gently press it into. “You should plant the first one. What color do you think it will be?”

“Hmm.” She hummed as she turned the delicate bundle about between her fingers. “My favourites are yellows and ivories.” 

“Turn it the other way.” Merana spun her finger slowly in the air before them to emphasize. “Longer ends downward.” She turned her hand over the waiting hole in the ground and a current of magic flecked the soil with a coating of ice first that melted almost as quickly as it formed, dampening the soil, before another wash of it followed suit.

Ivuni smiled at the revelation that the woman beside her was obviously a Mage. She wondered if the Lady Anais had discovered that as well. “That is handy for this given line of work.”

“Sometimes.”

She set the root system down, then she and Merana set to covering it with the loosened soil. When the other woman seemed content, she stood back to her feet and crossed to the other side of the garden once more and she noted the now familiar sound of glass clinking together. Without prompting, she pressed several basil seeds into the topsoil well-spaced for growth and breathing room; she had grown that before so had an idea on how to approach it.

One of the doors into the courtyard was pushed open and footsteps padded less the quietly across the flagstone. “Oh darling, what are you doing in the dirt?” Dorian's voice invited her focus and she smiled before she looked up at him.

“Trying to help.” She replied as she briefly glanced towards Merana. 

“Well, are you allowed to take breaks?” He asked and she frowned lightly in reply as Dorian looked beyond her. “Is she allowed a break?”

When she followed Dorian’s line of sight, she found a deeply blushing Merana, prompting her to rise to her feet in order to break the fixed stare. “Oh look, I’m taking a break.” She declared as she brushed her hands off against each other, then set to tapping them against the sides of her thighs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Dorian scoffed. “I am not simply allowed to visit and spend free time with my sweet, endearing, put-an-arrow-in-an-enemy’s-eye friend?” 

“There’s usually a line to see that person.” She mused as she folded her hands behind herself and leaned slightly towards him. “But the crowd appears scarce today.”

He smirked. “I got this for you.” He told her as he produced a small wrapped parcel, its contents hidden beneath thin blue paper and black twine. Ivuni stared at the item as though it were a foreign object, but that was not the reason behind the seeming fixation. “It’s not going to bite.” He insisted, teasing. “Unless you’re into gifts that do, then I’ll have to remember that for next time. I’m sure I could wrap up our hobo Mage for you.”

She forced a quick smile to her face, but just as soon as it took hold, it seemed to wither, only to be replaced by apprehension. No one gave her things. Except Deshanna. Except Elwen. Except… Ivuni swallowed and looked up at Dorian’s waiting gaze. There were so many meanings that her people affixed to gifts. This, however, was not of a romantic inclination that was being handed to her, nor was it her name day, nor was it winter solstice. She hesitantly reached her hands out to accept it and he set it onto her upturned palms. “I…what is it?”

“You have to open it, darling girl.”

She offered him another quick, fleeting smile as she looked down at the delicate paper. Drawing in a slow and steady breath, her dirty fingers skimmed the thin black binding that kept it together and she gave a gentle tug. The simple knotted bow gave and slipped, allowing the black twine to give and the thin paper unfolded on its own. A tuft of green peeked out from beneath the blue and she looked up at him again before she unwound the rest of the paper and turned the silky fabric into one hand. She stuffed the wrapping under her left arm and unfurled the green silky gauze between and across both of her hands.

There was a subtle shimmer to it and upon closer inspection, there appeared to be an occasional thread of silver interwoven through all of the green. Unfolding it further, she noted it was somewhat longer than it was wide and one of the shorter edges was trimmed in a delicate black lace. Oh. “It’s a scarf.” She realized, a warm smile tipped her lips and held as she turned the item over and over again in her hands, appreciating the occasional glimmer when the setting sunlight caught the silvery strands. “It is beautiful. But why –”

“I thought you could burn the other one as it’s been blood splattered countless times, and I’m sorry my dear, but no amount of scrubbing is going to clear it all away at this point.” He plucked the item up out of her hands and loosely wrapped it about her throat. “I had considered blue to accentuate your eyes, but you often opt for a blue tunic, thus the emerald hue. Compliments the bloody hue of your hair, I think.”

It welled up inside her without warning and she fought back the threatening swell of emotions that clamoured their way forward. She swallowed in an attempt to find her voice, but her words stuck to the back of her throat. All she could do was stare at the loosely draped fabric about her neck, one tail end fluttered down over her the left side of her collarbone. Her eyebrows puckered together and she forced herself to not cry, to not even hint that she potentially could.

Dorian reached towards her once more and gently wrapped a loose section of her hair around his fingers and curled it down over her shoulder. “Perfect shade, really.”

Without warning, Ivuni stepped forward and directly into his personal space. There was the slightest moment of hesitation when she considered wrapping her arms about him, her concern more in regard to her dirtied hands touching him than anything else, but ultimately curled them about his form regardless. She pressed her forehead against his chest and bit at her lip when she felt his arms lift and drape around her smaller form.

“You act as if you’ve never been given something.” He commented with a trace of chuckle and she felt him smile against the top of her head. In response, Ivuni nuzzled her face more tightly against him and a strangled gasp escaped her unbidden, prompting Dorian’s hold to tighten. “Truly, my dear?”

Only three people in her entire life had ever truly given her such gifts. Now she could count four. And of those four people, one was a Tevinter mage who had grown up accustomed to his family owning slaves, possibly elven slaves. The longer she was away from her clan, the more often the world caught her off guard, surprised her, curbed so much of the depiction of Thedas that her people had so finely crafted. Dorian gifting her something so simple yet so lovely did not lessen what he was, did not take away from the fact that his people enslaved her own; the gesture simply defined him as an individual.

She felt a twinge of his magic slip gently around her, a flutter of warmth accentuating what he offered her in his embrace. Shifting she looked up at him and he angled himself to look down at her, a smile dimpling his cheeks and pushing the curled ends of his moustache upward. “Thank you, Dorian.” She whispered as she lifted up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are welcome.” He replied and pressed a kiss of his own against her forehead.

A fluttering indicated the raven taking flight once more and she opened her eyes in order to turn to watch it fly away until she noted the presence of another Mage over Dorian’s shoulder. Solas tipped his head in her direction before he turned about and headed back towards the door that she had used to find the garden. She loosened her grip and stepped somewhat around Dorian who also turned to look at what it was that stole her attention, finding Solas’s retreating form.

“As amazing as I am, I’m sure he wasn’t here looking for me.” Dorian sighed, a smile toying with his mouth even as he released her. “Best be after him.”

“Thank you, Dorian, again for my gift.”

“You’re welcome, you pretty little thing.”

When she looked over towards Merana, the woman simply offered her a smile and then a nod of her head, offering a silent farewell. Then she gave chase, clearing the short set of steps upwards onto the stonework and through the door back into the hall.

“Solas.” She called for him as he reached for the door that would take him back into the rotunda and he paused mid-step.

“Inquisitor.” He stated as he turned to face her and she bit her lip to keep from reprimanding his use of a title. She was thankful when he didn’t offer an apology, though he did appear to consider one. “I was…do you have a moment?”

“Yes.” She stood a bit straighter and gave a nod, then she took another step towards him, putting her in the middle of the main walkway. A pair of Ferelden nobles lingered at a table to her left, discussing trade routes quietly in the hall, but she had little care for their presence in the moment.

Solas nodded a few times before he folded his hands behind himself and made his way back towards her. For a moment, he stood less than an arm’s length away from her and stared down at her, seeming to study her features, his focus lingering on her left eye before sweeping to the branches beneath it. “Perhaps somewhere not so publically accessible?”

She smiled at him. “Of course.” The only place in the entire keep that she could count on at least some form of privacy was her own room. Its extensive stairway offered plenty of time to respond to someone intent on breaking the solitude she could find. Though if she were being honest about the quarters she had been afforded, she thought them somewhat extravagant considering she would have been content to sleep in the main courtyard amongst the tents and the soldiers under the stars.

Solas followed her in silence and if she hadn’t been trained her entire life to _listen_ she may have thought he had deviated and given up keeping to her heels. The fact that much like her, he never wore shoes, made her pay attention to him and his presence more than she would have to Blackwall or even Sera. And Sera often wore thin soft shoes that made her movements easy and quieter than most. She often wondered if the other archer would notice much of a difference going barefoot.

She shouldered her weight against the door at the back of the hall and stood against it as though to hold it open for him, but he simply stopped and waited beside her until she pushed out of the frame and took to the steps. The door was quietly shut behind them and she felt him behind her more than heard him. They turned through the second doorway and took the last flight of steps with ease and without comment. It should seem unnerving to spend so much time with a person in silence, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be troubled by it. She considered asking if he wanted to sit at the desk or the couch but inevitably continued on out onto the balcony where a faint chilled breeze waited to tangle into the free strands of her hair.

“This is probably the least public place I can imagine.” She watched him step towards the railing and set his hands flat against the stone surface before he swept his gaze from left to right to take in the immediate view. When he leaned forward as though to gauge the long distance towards the snow covered ground below, she cleared her throat and stifled a chuckle. “Don’t go too far forward.” She set her forearms on the railing’s slab and leaned forward with him, pointed to the left around the curve in the castle towards the end of a rampart that served as the far point of the outer wall. “Occasionally a scout is sitting there and they’ll lose it on Cullen that you’re possibly trying to off yourself.” She shook her head when he looked at her. “You do not want to hear that lecture.”

“Quite.” He agreed and took a step backward.

“What did you want to talk about?” Hopefully not some new revelation that Corypheus too was elven, like the orb he wielded. She wasn’t sure if she could stomach that idea.

“What were you like before the Anchor?” He asked and she felt her mind go blank, not expecting him to pursue _her_ as his topic of choice. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your…spirit?”

She let her gaze fall away from him and let it fixate on the brickwork behind him as she considered his question. She didn’t feel any different than she normally did. Ivuni glanced at her hand and the dim glow that emanated from her palm. The mark offered a constant dull ache, but she didn’t think it was enough of a nuisance to affect her personality. “If it had, do you really think I’d have noticed?” She looked back up at him and swallowed. Should she have noticed?

Solas gave a single nod and looked briefly towards the lower half of her face. “No. That’s an excellent point.”

When he didn’t pursue further, she pressed him instead, her own curiosity tickled. “Why do you ask?” Her fingers reached out and brushed the railing and then she drew her hand back to her side. “Is there something…wrong?” With her?

He lifted his eyes back up to meet her once more and she watched him, waiting. “You show a wisdom I have not seen since…since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” He confessed. “You are not what I expected.”

That made her wonder _what_ he had expected. Had he expected something different out of someone in her position, or expected something different out of someone who was _Dalish_? “Sorry to disappoint.” He had made a string of comments over the course of the last several months in regards to his interactions with Dalish clans, and none of them depicted any amicable meetings.

“It’s not disappointment.” He clarified quickly. “It’s…” He sighed and she waited as he reached for the verbal capacity necessary to voice his thoughts. “Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish have could raise someone with a spirit like yours…have I misjudged them?” And there it was, the Dalish implication.

The answer to that question could be yes. Though, the answer could also be no. She had no idea which clans he had attempted to approach and under what guise he had made his attempts. Some clans were wary, though welcoming of outsiders. Others would not offer a second glance to anyone not elven. And others still would not have entertained taking on anyone not marked by vallaslin. Solas bore the benefits of being elven and a Mage, but he was unmarked and often spoke his mind without considering the potential repercussions of who or what he may offend.

“The Dalish didn’t make me like this. Not entirely.” A good hunter may be given a bow and a quiver of arrows, may be taught how to utilize their tools, may be guided to find prey, but the hunter ultimately made the choice of when to kill and when to let quarry run. Choices. “The decisions were mine.”

A subtle smile turned the corners of his mouth and she felt her tension slip, not having realized the discussion had made her tense. “Yes, you are wise to give yourself that due. Although the Dalish, in their fashion, may still have guided you.” He insisted and she gave a single nod of her head to imply she felt some truth in such. “Perhaps that is it. It must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world.” 

“Most people are too busy with their own lives to pay attention.”

“But not you.” He countered insistently. 

She was a hunter for her clan, part of her essential functioning within her clan dictated that she pay close attention to the world. And she did not have a bondmate or children to mind. “So what does this mean, Solas?”

“It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

Once more, she found herself caught off guard by his direction. Still, when she corralled her brain into proper functioning, she smiled at him and took a few steps towards him to close the gap between them and then folded her hands behind herself, much in a similar fashion as he often held himself in her presence. “Good.” He lifted his chin slightly as he looked down at her, but then he shook his head and stepped back to put distance between them, turning away. “Don’t go.” She insisted as she reached for him, sliding her hand around his upper arm and squeezing gently in an attempt to stop him.

“It would be kinder in the long run.” He replied and seemed to fight with himself over the matter further. “But losing you would…” When he turned back towards her, his resolve to run faltered and his lips met hers before any other part of him touched her, cutting off the direction of his thoughts and words, leaving her to grasp at his meaning briefly until the tip of his tongue swept the seam of her mouth. Then she didn’t care as much about words.

Ivuni tipped her head and he followed suit, she allowed her lips to give and he took advantage of the opening she presented him with. Warm hands settled against her hips and drew her closer to him. His body heat permeated through his and her own clothing enough to seep into her pores, chasing the chill the mountain air offered. Her fingers clutched at his tunic, sliding around his sides and she felt the muscles she traced tense in response, but the pressure against her mouth never slackened.

His arms slid more securely around her and she felt a flutter of magic wash up against her, bathing her more fully in warmth and drawing a sound of contentment up from her chest. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip when he tried to draw away and when she bit down he pressed back in again, molding his lips back around hers and leaning into her. She drew her right arm back to herself, snaked it between them and up around his shoulder, curling it around the back of his neck to keep from falling as he took a step, and then another, moving her almost up off of her feet with each motion until her upper back was pressed against the masonry of the keep’s walls.

When they broke apart, she wasn’t sure if it was him or her that initiated the need to do so in order to breathe. He tipped his brow against hers and nudged the tip of her nose with his own. She savored it, the proximity, the heat his body offered, the tingling of his magic dancing across her skin. Then she tilted herself once more and sought his lips, drawing him back in for another exchange. 

The second time it was clearly his actions that separated their mouths and he let his grip on her slacken enough to allow him to set his forearms against the wall on either side of her, indirectly caging her there. He leaned in as though to initiate another kiss, but she instead felt him smile against her cheek having caught himself. Then he folded his hands behind him and stepped back, prompting her to look up and meet his eyes with her own.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” He told her and she felt her heart stutter in her chest.

_Vhenan._


	14. Chapter 14

It felt like molten steel had been molded to her bones and she staggered as the rift spit them back out into the waking world. The air was different once more, it was a somewhat trying feat drawing it in and out of her lungs, and she had thought it had been harder within the physical confines of the Fade. How quickly she had adapted there, only to be thrust back through the fabric of the veil and forced to reacclimatize to another environment. 

She wanted to scream, wanted to turn back and pass through the rift once more, but it sparked wild magic and she was instead compelled to lift her marked hand and coax the tear into stitching itself shut. It bowed and fought her manipulation as though it were a living breathing entity that possessed a will to oppose her. The power struggle tore at the already burning ache spreading away from her palm and reaching first for her wrist then whispering a threat towards her elbow. 

A collective shriek of the demons still present within the keep prompted her to twist the magic in her hand harder and quicker, pushing energy towards the quivering rift. Part of her wondered how many of the demons summoned across the veil by the wardens had been peaceful spirits forcibly ripped free of their natural existence. Wondered how many would crumble and be lost to the world. Ivuni shook the consideration away from the forefront of her thoughts, afraid she could spiral down a rabbit hole if allowed to dwell too long. 

The rift buckled and she drew her hand back, snapping the magical threads that bound it to her and the sputtering fissure righted its edges, collapsing in on itself. Her right hand gripped her left wrist and she sucked a breath through her teeth, willing the pain to settle and disperse. She pressed her thumb against the heel of her aching palm and sighed, forcing her thrumming hand to hang idly at her side. If she could focus herself elsewhere, she could potentially separate herself from the pain until it dissipated. 

“Without the nightmare to control them, the mages are free.” Hawke observed and declared. “Corypheus loses his demon army. Now as far as they’re all concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.” 

“What’s done is done.” She murmured to herself, then she looked up once more at Hawke, but even she did not seem to feel overly compelled to put words into her mouth. “They need something to believe in.” She finally conceded. It felt like a lie on her tongue to offer such in regard to a god she did not believe in. But the fact of the matter was that numerous Wardens stood round her, expectantly, waiting to be told _something_ and that was all that she could truly give them. Something.

Approaching footsteps drew her focus and she was thankful for the arrival of an Inquisition scout to draw attention away from her. “Inquisitor, the Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive.” Good, she thought. “Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.” There was no grand judgement to consider in regards to Erimond. “As for the Wardens, those that weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.” 

One of the Wardens stepped forward, his armor gleaming in the moon and torchlight, even tarnished with so much blood and gore from the fight. He pressed his right fist against his chest in a similar motion her own people often offered. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s tragic mistake.” Then he glanced about the immediate area and attempted to look around her as though she hid some great secret in one of her back pockets. “Where is Stroud?” 

Focus, she told herself. She needed to keep herself together, at least for the moment in front of all these people. If she fell apart at the seams, it would only give way to a potential weakness that could potentially be exploited. She was the face of a growing organization and she could not appear weak. “Warden Stroud died striking a blow against a servant of the blight. We will honor his sacrifice and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens, even if Corypheus and his servants try to destroy you all from within.”

The forward Warden appeared to accept the explanation, though with minute hesitation. “Inquisitor, we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?” 

As with choosing between the aid of the Templars and the Mages, and deciding between how to take the Mages into the Inquisitions’ folds, she was once more presented with a choice that no one else was stepping forward to make. “You leave.” She replied, and she did not wait for the collective shock to set in before she continued. “The unfortunate truth is that you are still vulnerable to Corypheus. Without Stroud to guide you, leaving the Wardens unchecked is a risk that I am not willing to take. By the authority of the Inquisition, you are banished from southern Thedas.”

“All of them?” Sera piped up. Her greatest fear was The Nothing. “Is that even possible?” 

She considered the question with scrutiny. There was no way to be sure that every Warden would bend to the exile. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana could see to those not present, but at least for the time being, those in current attendance within and around Adamant could be dealt with. “Hawke will oversee your return to the Warden fortress at Weisshaupt.”

The forward Warden seemed defeated, yet still offered a slight bow of his body before her, his fist still snug against his chest. “Yes, Your Worship.” 

“Your Worship, I would stay, if you’ll allow it, and continue our fight.”

Ivuni hesitated. “Of course. I have never doubted your loyalty, Blackwall.” Keeping him within their number would at least demonstrate some faith in the Warden order, would it not?

Hawke took several steps towards her and offered her a half smirk. “Good luck, Inquisitor.” She offered a tip of her head. “It’s been an honor, and…take care of Varric for me.”

Then there was motion, everywhere. Armor rattled, chain mail quivered, weaponry was shifted about. Feet were moving within metal and leather boots, numbers being drawn, and names being exchanged. There was a call for provisions and with that, Ivuni stepped away from the square. She was aware of her companions’ eyes following her, but she could not bring herself to meet any of their imploring gazes. Neither did she stop for any of her three advisors near the inner gates. Numerous bodies seemed to line around and move in step after her, yet she hadn’t the mind to offer any of them her regard.

Her determined steps took her through winding battlements and stairwells that had been puzzled together until she was finally able to step free of the keep. She offered no looks or words to the soldiers or scouts that grouped and huddled about in the immediate area, hurrying about filling their roles. Their acknowledgement of her presence was given but she gave nothing in return. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. They all deserved better than what she was and what she both could and could not provide for them. Every member of the Inquisition was relying on her to lead. Yet what had that accomplished in the Fade? Abandonment. 

Further towards the outer reaches of the slowly growing camp she noted several tents along the perimeter and Varric’s familiar form near a fire. All she wanted was to strip herself bare, wipe herself clean, then crawl under blankets and let the day slip away into something else. The Fade of her dreams would surely be far more pleasant even if it twisted and coiled and curled without reason. Or perhaps she would find a shadow of the Fear Demon waiting to taunt her her inability to keep all of her people safe.

“Do you understand what you have done by banishing the Grey Wardens from southern Thedas?” Leliana pressed quietly, her steps gaining. There was an insistence in her tone, yet it was not overly dour. 

Ivuni sighed as she turned back to face the spymaster and folded her hands behind herself. “We do not have the time nor the proper resources to play the role of babysitters here.” When Leliana moved to argue, Ivuni held up a hand. “I’m not finished.” And each of her advisors hesitated, Josephine and Cullen coming up short behind Leliana somewhat caught off guard. “They’re all still experiencing the false calling. They are still susceptible to becoming thralls to Corypheus, and I am too tired to have to sleep with one eye open.” She took a step forward. “I am doing them a service by removing the opportunity for them to place themselves into potentially compromising positions by turning them back towards Weisshaupt and clearing them away from possible further direct manipulation. If we stop Corypheus, we may stop this artificial calling and that needs to be our focus. I would rather banish them from these lands than allow them to continue to sully their reputation and status amongst the people.” She exhaled slowly and fought the urge to press a hand to her face or run fingers through her hair. “Grey Wardens are heroes that respond to the darkest of calls to rise to arms, they do not need to strike fear into the people they are meant to protect because they could not keep themselves from causing damage.”

Leliana stared at her, yet the careful look she offered implied that her focus was likely piecing her thoughts together and seeking sense rather than furthering a possible argument. Cullen actually smirked, _smirked_ , and folded his own hands behind himself. Josephine glanced at the papers in her arms, and she could see the gears turning, seeking a way to work this all the more to their benefit.

“I have already had a hand in the deaths of numerous Wardens, I will not allow that count to be furthered when I am in a position to curb it.” She continued. “My suggestion to each of you is to manage your arm of this organization to the best of your ability and make this move appear advantageous, because as Josephine as insisted multiple times during our trek here, we are still in need of currying favor to attend some fancy royal ball.” She drew in a breath. “I was once more forced into a position to make a choice and I made it.”

Cullen’s coy little smirk spread. “I give it two days at best before an invitation is extended. You’ve stripped Thedas’ current greatest threat of a demon army.”

Josephine shook her head, but the look on her face was more amused. “I will tip each of our current noble allies and have everyone turn ears.” Then she excused herself towards the tents that the three of them had sequestered for themselves. 

Leliana said nothing, she simply took a step forward, a smile flirting with her lips before she gave a single nod of her head. 

That left her alone for a moment with Cullen and she sighed, shifting the topic matter. “How are you holding up, Commander?”

He offered her a less than forced smile in regard to her direction. “I am managing, Inquisitor.”

Liar. She could tell he was uncomfortable, the dark rings around his eyes were the tip of the iceberg. “I am glad that you are handling this as well as you are, and I still fully support your efforts.”

“I will still defer to Cassandra if –”

“Let’s hope that is not necessary.” She offered him a warm, albeit tired smile. “You are a strong individual, Cullen, and I have every faith in your ability to overcome and manage this.” She had no idea what it was like to withdraw from Lyrium. It seemed like a painful undertaking but once he had explained it the way one would describe a leash on a dog, she was more than willing to support his desire to cut himself free. He kept insisting on turning over his place to Cassandra, yet it was the fact that he was willing to do so, offering it so readily in the face of failure, that kept her assurance in him kindled. “You are doing a great thing.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” And then like the others, he excused himself. 

Ivuni sighed once more and looked up towards the sky noting the griffon directly overhead. She could make out the bear, and the dragon, and the wolf still, and part of whatever it was he chased after near the horizon. She wondered how long exactly to the day it had been since she had sat out with Solas beneath the stars as she had pointed out each constellation to him. There was still the nagging insistence when she looked upward that she had yet to petition him for an explanation of what he saw when he looked upward.

_Can you see the stars in the Fade?_

Her suppressed emotions rushed forward and she let out a strangled gasp as tears pooled in her eyes. It was her fault. Stroud was gone, stuck in the Fade, likely…worse. And she had left him there. She had allowed him to insist that they carry on without him while he remained behind to give them a chance to escape. It didn’t matter much to her in that moment that he had been plagued by the sound of a calling bidding him to his death anyway, all she could focus on was letting him remain.

Ivuni sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her teeth together, clenching her jaw as she pressed her eyes shut. She needed to regain and implement some level of self-control. Straightening her spine, she turned about and noted Solas and Sera standing several paces ahead of her. He inclined his head and she moved forward, pausing briefly beside them before continuing towards the back set of tents. 

A scout turned and hesitated at the sight of her before he reached forward and pushed a basin and a skin of water in her direction, and she accepted it with a slight fleeting smile to convey her thanks. “Good evening, my lady.” Were his only words before he turned back to filling further skins with water. 

Upon closer steps towards Varric and the fire, she found the rest of her inner circle in varying states of undress, weapon cleaning, and finding something to eat. She wanted to say something to them, something encouraging, something thankful, but none of her sentiments could be roused from her tongue. Her eyes passed over each of them before settling on the crackling of the fire that was meant to offer both light and warmth, of which, in the moment, she felt neither. 

She swallowed, feeling defeated and turned in towards the tent at the furthest corner of the group that had her pack lying near the flap. Her fingers nimbly slipped through the pack’s uppermost loop and plucked the item up off the ground as she stepped into the waiting darker confines of the tent. With little thought, she dropped the bag on the side she normally slept on and knelt down to set the basin on the ground. She moved almost artificially out of habit, reaching for the bedroll and untying the pair of straps keeping it bound up, then pushed it outward to unfurl its full length and breadth.

Mindlessly her finger set to the task of unhooking all of her light armor, starting at her shoulders and gradually working her way out towards her wrists first before unbuckling the belt at her hips to allow her to lift the deep blue leather tunic away from her body. The fineweave chainmail was next, then she knelt in order to unhook the fasteners of the thigh high leather greaves, and mail leggings until she sat in her small clothes and stared at the basin waiting to be utilized, the skin of water untouched. 

Another body stepped into the small confines and unrolled the neighboring bedding. She listened as he set his own pack down, set his staff near the edge of his side and then rustled around with several of the blankets and furs. 

She felt stupid just sitting there, staring at the tools to a task that demanded her attention. Her exhaustion and circling thoughts wanted her to just slip in beneath the blankets and escape into sleep, not caring that she was still flecked with grime.

The splash of water to her left brought her back around with a start and she turned enough to watch him empty the skin into the waiting basin. One long fingered hand submerged a linen cloth into the shallow depths and then rung the item out. His free hand swept her hair over her right shoulder and then pressed the damp cloth against her skin. The initial contact of cold against her bare shoulder elicited a shudder and a short startled gasp, but she wasn’t sure if it was honestly the chill, or the action and contact being made by the man who sat behind her. He didn’t press her with questions, didn’t bait her with stories or any words at all, he simply sat with her in silence, his presence itself comforting as his hands clearing the blood and dust from her skin. 

Her eyes fixated on a barely fluttering lower edge of the tent wall closest to her, toying with the occasional breeze. A short flutter inward sent a line of pin prickles across her upper body and she immediately felt heat radiate from where his hands were currently against her. She was acutely aware of his proximity shifting closer to her and is legs sliding out to frame her own as he positioned himself at her back. He dipped and rung the rag out once more with his left hand, his right slid around her to cup her chin and tilted it back so that the back of her head rested against his left shoulder. The cloth swiped slowly along the column of her throat first, then the length of her clavicle, then lower over the upper swell of her breasts. He seemed to offer a measure of respect for the skin hidden beneath the band across her chest and skipped it in favor of the exposed skin beneath.

Still his motions continued in silence and at some point she allowed her form to slacken and settle against him as he worked, occasionally dipping and ringing the cloth out. He paid careful attention to every part of her that he wiped at and touched, her abdomen, her thighs, her knees, her legs, even the soles of her feet until he was satisfied with her cleanliness. 

Warm lips settled against the joint between her right shoulder and neck and she sighed at the contact. His mouth lingered for a moment before it withdrew, then pressed a kiss against her temple. He drew fabric from his right and unfolded a linen shirt from her pack that he held out before her, ready for her arms to slip into, and she followed the unspoken instruction, allowing him to draw it up her arms and over her head. As it settled about her, his fingertips skimmed the hook-and-loop buttoned seam of the band about her chest, making quick work of the three little fasteners and drawing it away from her. His fingertips then trailed her sides down to her hips where his thumbs hooked beneath her smalls and pushed downward until he couldn’t progress further without her assistance. Ivuni pushed back against him enough to lift her lower half enough to allow him to continue down her thighs until she was prompted to draw her knees up to her chest to facilitate complete removal over her feet. He unfolded a pair of pants and she slid into the waiting openings meant for her legs. He made simple work of the tie at her waist. Another kiss was pressed to her temple before he shifted and withdrew himself from against her back. 

Turning towards her left shoulder she watched him retrieve the basin with its crimson water and then he ducked out of the tent. When he didn’t immediately step back in, Ivuni lifted the blankets on her side and arranged herself down beneath them and the furs. She closed her eyes and tried to temper her thoughts and her breathing enough to fall asleep, but it eluded her at every turn. Enough so that when he returned, now clean himself and clad similarly to her, she watched him mimic her own previous motions of settling in beneath the blankets, lying on his left side in order to look over at her.

She stared at him in silence and he held her gaze. Dying alone, that was his greatest fear. She wondered why that of all things would plague him when he was surrounded by people and she was within reach if he wanted to stretch his hand out to touch her. There was a constant guard to him, not necessarily magical, or verbal…it was emotional, as if he had at some point in his life resigned himself to being a thing rather than a person. Resigned himself to not feel, or at least, not allow himself to feel, yet he had called her… It was in his eyes in that moment, staring back at her, a guarded sense of curiosity, even as her skin prickled under the weight that his eyes on her conjured. 

Ivuni moved, shifted towards him across their bed rolls and drew her blankets still draped about herself. When she was just before him, she looked up at him through her lashes and found him still staring down at her, the rise and fall of his chest far more prominent than she had ever thought it to be. She swallowed and curled the fingers of her left hand into his sleep shirt and used the point as an anchor against which to draw herself all that much closer. Then she flattened her hand against is chest and gave a gentle push, sliding her palm up towards his right shoulder until he seemed to grasp at her desire for him to roll onto his back. The new position and proximity allowed her to snuggle closer, allowed her to pillow her head against left shoulder and curl her body against his side.

She breathed in a stuttering breath, and exhaled it with care. She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone, insist that he never needed to be, but ultimately, how his life progressed and ended was solely within his hands. So she kept her tongue behind her teeth and simply inhaled the smell of him, focused on his breathing, and tried to pace the beat of her heart with his own. His arm curled around her and settled against her shoulder, squeezing her more snuggly against his side. 

Heat permeated the immediate area and she felt herself finally, _finally_ , fall under.

Her dreams were disjointed flutters of pieced together memories of Adamant that braided into remnants of their excursion through the Fade. Everyone was in their place, but when Solas looked at her, she could feel it was different, that it was actually him there within her dreamscape silently observing. When they happened upon the echo of Justinia, her form bled away and was replaced by Deshanna instead, prompting Ivuni to frown. Then the stability of the dream slipped and darkness pooled about her.

When it righted itself once more, she was in a hallway. The floor beneath her bare feet was ivory marble flecked with gold, sconces of blue fire littered along the fresco painted walls. Her fingers reached out without much mental instruction to do so and made contact with the artwork. Some places were smooth, and others were rough where plaster and paint had been built up to depict the scene. It looked somewhat like the night sky, spots of light against a darker backdrop that wasn’t quite black, more so a deep, dark green that could swallow any light that ventured too close. There was a figure in the background, depicted as little more than a dark outline, the right arm held out from its side almost welcoming or perhaps meant to offer guidance. She thought she knew who was depicted there.

Stepping away from the painting, she ventured further into the seemingly endless hall and it the fresco appeared to evolve further until a pair of gold eyes were staring at her from beneath a dark hood. The hall contorted with each further step until she was standing in the temple, her fingers reaching out to run along the buttery soft and light gauze fabric of the dress she wore as though she needed to be sure of where she was. A look down at herself gave her a full view of what she wore and it offered little to the imagination. It was bound at edges by ropes of gold that framed her breasts and then wrapped a few times about her lower chest and waist, cinching the fabric together until it fluttered free towards the floor. A few steps forward and a split revealed itself along her left leg that cut high onto her hip.

She happened upon the priestess like she always did, but the woman’s eyes breathed an eerie green smoke into the air. Still, the woman attempted to nod and bow before her but she moved on before she could do so. She stepped around her and tried to deviate from the path and direction she knew she was forced to follow, but her body kept her locked in, moving of its own accord. The prayer room; that was where she was headed, that was where the dark figure would cross into her path, and a sudden sense of dread pitted itself in her stomach.

There had been no stone for her in the graveyard, no verbal depiction of her greatest fear, but in that moment she thought she could carve one for herself. 

The figure stepped into her path and moved towards her, its voice reaching out to greet her, to draw her in, and her body responded. She glided towards him and felt her fear stifle slightly until she noted the walls behind him and around them catching fire and burning green. She tried to force herself to rouse, _willed_ herself back into the waking even as the figure reached out for her and she lifted her right hand to set gently against her chest as pain flared like a torch.

Fingers braided with those of her left hand and drew her away. The burning walls ebbed and dissolved, as did the figure that had sought her attention.

The sensation never changed, being torn from the dreaming world to the waking one was always a harsh transition. She would liken it to being yanked out of water, or forcibly submerged beneath it, always a moment where she had to fight to breathe. Her hand splayed across her chest and she hoisted herself up into a seated position, drawing her left knee against her chest.

“Dream.” Solas’s voice spoke sleepily. 

Ivuni simply nodded without uttering a word. She drew in a slow breath and held it for a few beats as she let her eyes slide shut, then exhaled as though she could breathe her anxiety out of herself. 

It had been darker, though, the temple had felt somewhat frightening where any other time before she had wanted to stay within it, and all she could attribute it to was the twisted aftermath of their brief tryst in the Fade at Adamant. Where she had left a Grey Warden to die. He had insisted they go without him, to return to the waking world to put it right. But she had made the decision to leave him. She had… Ivuni choked back on the threatening sob, attempted to bite it back even as her heart betrayed her by kicking into a quicker pace. An arm slipped about her hips and she felt him use it to draw himself closer to her, enough so that he pressed his brow against her shoulder and gently shushed her.

“I left him to die.” She sputtered. 

“No.” He assured her. “Someone needed to remain behind and he offered himself. He pushed you onward. He gave his life so that we could leave the Fade, so that you could go on to defeat Corypheus.”

“I should have stayed.” She cupped her hands against her face. “I could have done something, I could have…”

“No.” He repeated. “There was nothing that you could have done that would not have resulted in your own demise there.”

“I killed him.” Her voice whispered.

Then his fingers were about her jaw, drawing her face towards and against his own as he sought to shush her rambling. “Let go your guilt, vhenan. I would not have allowed you to remain there.” He assured her and she was aware that he chose his words specifically in an attempt to take the weight from her. When another choked sob escaped her, he shushed her once more and drew her smaller form against his own, then drew her back down to lay against his side. “Go back to sleep.” His murmured against her hair. “I will keep the nightmares at bay.”


	15. Chapter 15

Cullen had been right. The invitation to the royal ball had been extended in just over a day from the moment Adamant had been claimed by the Inquisition. And of all people, their patron for attendance was Duke Gaspard de Chalons, the slighted once intended ruler of Orlais. Josephine had insisted on the scandal it would cause, yet also reveled in the excitement and position it offered them. There had been quite a buzzing to her demeanor when the immediate circle had packed up to leave the Warden fortress behind, and she had seemed almost beside herself with excitement when she produced what she had planned for everyone to wear. 

It wasn’t outright awful. The coat, as she had modeled it, did not line up at the polished brass buttons, but rather the front halves folded across each other and were secured by a lovely blue sash that was folded and knotted just right that the tail ends tucked in unseen. Fitted breeches that seemed rather basic until the material was pinched between fingertips, tucked into fitted leather boots and Ivuni had done her best to not scowl at the footwear. 

“It would only be for an evening.” Josephine had insisted when she had taken in her distaste.

Just one evening. Only a handful of hours, hopefully, amongst a multitude of haughty and arrogant sh–humans. Just one evening that she would have to force her feet into the confines of leather boots. One evening to impress to nobility. One evening to mingle and dance.

One evening to earn a multitude of blisters.

“Of course.” She inevitably swallowed her pride and had given a nod of consent. It was not as though they would be outside where she could appreciate blades of grass tickling between her toes, they were going to be indoors on hard unfeeling floors. 

“I will not be caught dead in such dreary garb and considering the impression that our dear girl needs to make, neither will she.” Vivienne had declared with ease. 

“I think –” Cullen started to argue.

“What a novel idea, darling.” The Enchantress interrupted and her barb lingered barely longer than it took to draw a breath to argue. “Do not fret, I will see to her being properly attired for an evening spent at a royal masquerade.” She had tilted her head, then, and shifted only her eyes towards Leliana. “Honestly, you would be content to let her blend in with the royal guard? What a dreadful thought.” Vivienne tsk’d her displeasure. “And what about you, Sera?”

Sera snorted. “I’m good with breeches. I’ll keep with the uniform.”

“Well,” Vivienne sighed, “I know just the woman to turn our Inquisitor into a vision that will turn heads and garner plenty of court approval.”

That was how she had ended up on a lifted step in a tailor’s boutique in Orlais with a measuring tape snug about her waist while the woman taking said measurements rattled them off to a younger elven girl with a pad of parchment and quill in her hands. She hadn’t realized that being fitted for finery required such fine and precise numbers. From what Sera had guessed at on their journey there, she had assumed there would be a measurement taken of her chest, waist, and then hip to floor, but the woman kneeling before her seemed intent on mapping her entire body.

“It needs to be elegant, Marguerite.” Vivienne spoke from the chaise that she lounged upon, plucking a tiny purple pastry from a nearby tray. “Though not quite on par with overshadowing Celene, of course.”

“I created Celene’s gown myself.” The tailor – Marguerite – replied. “I know the parameters necessary to work within. Color though…” She rose up from her knees and stood back, her attention sweeping Ivuni’s form and she tried not to blush under the weight of assessment. “I was considering blue.”

“Celene always opts for blue.” The elven girl commented quietly.

“Why does that matter?” Sera piped up from the simple wooden chair that she had been afforded and Ivuni felt her thoughts align with the other archeress. 

“She is right.” Vivenne offered with a sigh. “It is considered distasteful to choose the same shade that the empress would select. Celene needs to stand apart as her station dictates.” 

“Sooo…pick a different blue?” Sera leaned her forearms onto her knees, confusion thick in her voice.

“You crafted Celene’s gown of cobalt, did you not?” Vivienne’s question was little in the way of asking and was presented more as a statement that she did not require an answer for.

Marguerite shrugged. “It is her favorite.”

The elven girl stepped forward and looked up into Ivuni’s eyes, the step she stood upon offering her little in the way of height over another of her kind. “But it would match her eyes so well.” 

“Let’s not make anyone angry over a dress color.” Ivuni lifted her hands up. “I highly doubt that one evening is worth the quiet wrath of an empress as I am seeking her as an ally, not an enemy.”

“She is Dalish, though…” Marguerite reasoned.

“Being dressed by an Orlesian who knows better.” Vivienne quickly cut back in. “Your stubbornness will ruin you.”

“Celene’s gown is cobalt over midnight trimmed in gold.” The tailor tapped a finger against her chin as she continued her study. The woman shifted and then bounced on the balls of her feet before stepping out of the room.

Ivuni looked to Vivienne who offered her a tight lipped smile in reply. “Do not fret, my dear, as concerning as she might seem in her selections, and as bound to her artistic nuances as she is, Marguerite will not put you in any manner of danger.”

Her brows inched upward. “There would be _actual danger_ in wearing the same color blue as the Orlesian empress?”

Vivienne’s smile broadened then. “It is simply The Game.”

Apparently, Josephine had already started grooming her to play this apparent ‘Game’ since her induction into the Inquisition, from her seemingly random comments to stand straighter, to pay attention, to keep her tongue well ready to snap when appropriate, and all she wanted to do was scoff and roll her eyes at every turn. All these months since the moment the mark had been branded on her palm, Josephine had been quietly steering her towards a point where direct interaction with high nobility would become necessary. And she even wanted her to wear shoes.

Why couldn’t she just be the wild elf that all those people were going to expect her to be anyway, regardless of how she carried herself or how she spoke? They could dress her up, paint her face to hide her vallaslin, twist her hair however they liked, but they could never do away with the pointed tips of her ears unless they cut them off and that would only happen when her heart stopped beating in her chest. Then it clenched when she realized it was no longer her heart that thrummed away behind her ribs.

“Here.” Marguerite returned to the parlor with a thick swath of fabric draped across her right arm. “This color will perhaps suit all the better.”

Vivienne pushed herself up from the couch and moved forward as the tailor offered her draped arm out for inspection. Ivuni took the edge between her fingertips and rubbed it gently back and forth assessing the weight and texture. It felt like...air that had been magically spun into silk. Before joining the Inquisition, she had only touched silk once in her entire life, now Josephine and Dorian were constantly trying to throw it at her.

“It’s called organza.” The tailor’s assistant told her, quietly.

“And what is this color of blue called?” Sera asked, only sort of truly curious.

“Sapphire.” Vivienne identified, a smile in her voice.

Marguerite stepped forward and draped the fabric over Ivuni’s left shoulder, stepping back with the rest of the ream still about her arm to assess. “It’ll drape from this shoulder alone.” She indicated said shoulder the fabric currently rested upon. “Then fitted here.” Her hands set against Ivuni’s waist and hips. “Flare out loose from there to the floor. Perhaps a slit against the left leg.”

“Not too high.” Vivienne interjected. “I know the bar that you like to push up against.”

The tailor sighed. “She has the legs for it.”

“Not too high.” The Enchantress repeated. “Let’s not give the nobility any more basis upon which to build their risqué beliefs they hold for the Dalish people.”

Ivuni lifted her eyes towards the Enchantress and stared at the woman even as Vivienne lost herself in further discussion with Marguerite over the proper placement of a slit in the dress to offer just the right measure of flash threaded with a hint of mystery. Vivienne had called her people _people_. She hadn’t just referred to them as Dalish and left the rest of her thought unspoken and ambiguous. 

_She’s a bitch. But she knows it. She better._

And yet…

Marguerite had informed them that it would take her four days, then she would make the trek to Skyhold to fit her properly, and make all final alterations there.

They journey back was uneventful save the second night when she had found Cassandra curled up away from the main group with a book gripped tightly in her hands and her focus completely engrossed. She had assumed that a woman like Cassandra would have been caught up in the exhilarating word of the Chant of Light or something equally converting. Instead, peering quietly over the woman’s shoulder, Ivuni had felt her own cheeks tinge with color as an amused smile took her features.

“My dear Lady Cassandra.” 

The startled Seeker snapped her book shut and immediately turned to face her. “What are you..?”

“What am _I_ doing?” She kept any outright laughter from her voice, but her coy smile stretched into a wide grin. “Good book?” She gestured with her chin towards the item that Cassandra sought to hide out of view. It was no wonder, then, why the Seeker had sought such a quiet nook away from everyone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The other woman declared as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah, because I suddenly went blind and forgot how to read.” And then she couldn’t fight back the chuckle that wormed its way passed her lips. “I’m just…curious.” About how their Seeker of Truth spent her precious free time, and even more so by the content that she immersed herself.

Cassandra frowned and glanced towards the book in her hand before folding it behind her. “Just reports, from Commander Cullen.”

“And here I thought the Seekers stood for truth.” Ivuni teased. “You’re an excellent liar.”

The other woman huffed but made no attempt to outright argue with her the gibe. “It is of no interest to you, I am certain.”

Ivuni tipped her head slightly. “So sure of that, are you?” She could possibly be interested in such a…tantalizing write.

Cassandra sighed then and brought her guilty item back out in front of her. “It’s a book.”

“I can see that.” Ivuni leaned forward slightly, her grin still plastered to her face, a pinch of victory in her voice. “I’m more interested in the subject matter and its origin.”

“It’s one of Varric’s tales.” She confessed, reluctantly. “ _Swords and Shields_. The latest chapter.”

“The _latest_ chapter? Meaning…you’ve read them all?” She had not yet procured a complete copy of Hard in Hightown, and had not even thought to wonder if there were multiple books in that serial. Now she was learning there was yet another branch to his writing, and it apparently did possess multiple volumes. The question now was, how many? 

“Not since this all began.” Cassandra briefly worried her lips with her teeth, an action Ivuni had never seen the Seeker engage in. “We’ve been busy.” Of course.

“She’s read this one three times.” Cole spoke from just beside her.

“You!” Cassandra shrieked at the boy. “I told you to stop spying.”

“You read it out loud to me.” Cole pressed in reply, then his voice softened, endearingly. “I don’t like the captain, either.” Then the spirit shrugged and walked away, his steps taking him back towards the fire that the rest of their companions sat round.

“I never did that!” Cassandra insisted, taking a step forward as though to make after Cole, then seemed to catch herself, realizing the outright guilt such an action would blatantly imply. “It’s literature. Smutty…literature.” Smutty literature, that meant…Ivuni snorted. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Varric.”

“I…promise.” She shook her head and held her hands up before herself. 

“I only started reading them when I began looking for Hawke. As research.” Smutty literature qualified as research? “They’re terrible. And _magnificent_. And this one ends in a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next, he must be!” It was fascinating to watch Cassandra talk about something that she seemed to care about that wasn’t the Maker, or the Chantry, or Andraste, and regardless of the contents within the pages. Her excitement lit her up in a way she had never seen anything else affect her. “You! You could ask him to finish it. _Command_ him to…” 

“Perhaps I should read them…” For research.

“I don’t know if they are tales you would enjoy, but if you did, maybe you…” Then the real Cassandra seemed to push back to the surface, overtaking the joyous reader. “Pretend you don’t know this about me.”

She watched Cassandra fold the book against her chest and retreat with her back straight and her jawline level with the ground towards her tent. She disappeared within the small construct with no further comment and Ivuni wondered about the rapid shift from one guise into another. 

Command Varric to write a dirty book. She snickered at the thought, but the brightened Cassandra that she discovered lost within the pages of a story was a person that tugged at her. If she procured her own book and poured through it, it wouldn’t seem so strange if she brought questions to Varric about the series and if he planned to continue it, and even when.

In the morning, when they broke camp and rolled all their belongings up for their continuing trek back home, she found a green leather bound copy of the first volume of _Swords and Shields_ waiting amongst her few personal affects. 

“New book?” Solas inquired, he nodded towards the item in her hand as he finished securing the straps of his bedroll and she gave a nod. “What is it about?”

Ivuni smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

“It needs to be taken in just so here.” Marguerite decided as she slid a pin into the slightest fold of fabric near Ivuni’s right hip. She wasn’t sure what kind of difference such a small fold would make, but she was a hunter and this work was far too fine for her to wrap her mind around. Yet still, she was utterly transfixed by the beautiful color that she had been draped in. She had never been one to hitch over clothing, but the color…it was like the sky at night, when a hint of the long set sun still offered the horizon a subtle glow. 

“Do you really think anyone is going to be gawking that closely?” Sera rolled her eyes.

“Yes.” Marguerite and Vivienne chimed together. 

Sera made a pbfft sound with her tongue and lips as she folded her arms across her chest. “A bit shallow you lot, yeah?”

“It’s a game, dear girl.” Vivienne reminded her. “One that is played at the very tips of the rules that are set forth.”

“Oh?” Sera rolled onto the balls of her feet, her brows rising. “There are bloody rules to this game?”

“Of course there are.” The Enchantress chuckled.

Marguerite’s assistant shook her head then. “Only not everyone utilizes the same ones.”

“Then how does anyone keep track?” Sera sighed.

“That is part of the game.” Marguerite drew glittering blue thread through the tiny pinch she had made in the dress, then she gathered it up from the hem at the floor and one hand disappeared beneath the asymmetrical layers and Ivuni watched as she stitched and the minute measure of fabric that the woman had wished to be rid of gradually disappeared into the rest of the dress. It was almost magical.

She trailed the fingers of her right hand over the edge of one of the layers, finding the split over her left leg as Marguerite had insisted needed to be there. The gauze-like fabric, so soft, so silken, so…for a moment she envisioned the temple from her dreams and she snapped back.

A door opened into the hall, but no one else seemed interested in acknowledging the sound or potential added presence in the hall. Facing the Inquisition Throne, she shifted in an attempt to look over her shoulder, though Marguerite’s grip on the dress kept her from turning enough to identify anyone. Likely it was a guard, or a scout, or a chantry sister. Still, she made trying efforts to greet people, whether it was a nod or a smile, it was something. 

Something.

“You gonna make her wear some fancy shoes?” Sera cut through her thoughts.

Vivienne met her gaze then. “It would be preferable.” Because it was a human norm, and they would be attending a human gathering. Vivienne left the rest of her thought on the matter unspoken and instead reached forward to press her fingers against the spine of the dress. “Where did you find these buttons? Their carved shape is quite lovely. Familiar.” 

Marguerite pursed her lips.

“Blue opal traded from the Seruvian Dalish clan of the Exalted Plains.” The assistant provided and Ivuni looked up at her.

“They traded with you?” She asked, carefully.

“With some effort.” The younger girl smiled at her, then she slipped into Elven, _“It helps when you understand enough that backhanded comments can be utilized to one’s advantage during negotiation.”_

Ivuni gave a hesitant - though amused - nod. It was at times a defensive measure, to slip into Elven amongst their own when dealing with trade transactions. However, not all discussion made was done so in kind. She was well aware of the slang jibes that had likely been offered; ‘flat ear’ being the least offensive. She would have loved to see a group of clan members caught off guard by a city elf calling them on their choice words. Ivuni tilted her head as she regarded the younger woman. _“Did you leave your clan?”_

The girl shook her head. _“My mother. She fell in love with a ‘flat ear’.”_

“Ah, Solas.” Vivienne purred. “Pray tell, what do you think?”

Ivuni shifted and turned slightly at the waist in order to look at him over her left shoulder. He briefly met her gaze, but his focus seemed to steal away to her sapphire clad form instead. Though he managed as per usual to maintain his neutral mask, his eyes raked over every inch of her with care, and she struggled to keep the heat in her chest from rising into her cheeks and ears. 

She managed half a step to turn – a grunt of disapproval from Marguerite who shuffled to move with her – to see him better and he took one in counter motion to himself find a better angle to appraise her from. It was almost difficult to watch him assess her, as if he were split, his attention seemingly completely captivated by her, yet she knew better than to assume his entire mind was there in the moment. He was weighing something that he would carefully tuck away from her probing mind enough she would likely forget about it when she found a moment away from everyone else to ask it. Still, he took another step towards her, and then another until he stood just before her, his eyes still sliding about her.

The box that Marguerite had insisted she stand upon gave her a somewhat greater sense of height, yet he was still tall enough that he looked down at her. 

She lifted her right hand from her side and reached out towards him, her fingertips brushing his cheek. “Vhen–” and her voice was cut short by his hand suddenly about her wrist. The contact, at least seemed to shake him and he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his features suddenly softening.

“You look so beautiful.” He said quietly, intended, she knew, for her ears. She was honestly surprised and grateful that Vivienne kept her mouth shut and didn’t bother to offer any sort of comment.


	16. Chapter 16

“Tada.” Bianca held her hands out from her sides and took a bow.

Ivuni shifted her weight to her left hip and folded her arms across her chest. “Admit it, you’ve been waiting to do that since we arrived.” 

“Of course I was.” The dwarven woman smiled, smug, then gestured towards the open doorway. “After you.”

It went without saying that there was still an overwhelming lack of goodwill that she felt for the woman before her, even with Varric’s ‘word’ offered on her behalf. Varric held her trust in spades, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to offer it to Bianca, not with all the secrecy still present. So when she acquiesced the request to continue, she did so with quiet caution. That they could all be walking into a trap at any given moment did not escape her. 

Clearing her throat, she stepped forward into the darker room ahead of them and paused within to allow her eyes to adjust. Bianca followed, with Varric, Solas, and Bull close on her heels. 

Regardless of the tidbits of information that Bianca offered on well-kept schedule, she wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for. Bianca had insisted they would find a key within the room, but given Varric’s description of Bianca’s position and specialty, it could look like anything, she supposed. It could be round like a gear, slender like a lock pick, or it could literally just look like a key. As the group split, she moved towards one of the desks that was overrun with scrolls and clay tablets.

Her initial approach was made with care to the contents on the desk, she picked them up and moved they carefully almost akin to the way she would handle an artifact found deep within an ancient temple. 

“There you are.” Bianca declared, pleased with herself and Ivuni was somewhat surprised when she turned to find the woman actually held a rather obvious key, albeit larger than average. Bianca slid the item into a locking mechanism on the other side of the room and a multitude of gears and bolts slid into place behind the door she stood before. “They won’t be able to use this entrance again.”

“Bianca…” Varric drew her name out, the threat of disappointment thick in his voice. “Andraste’s ass, Bianca. You’re the leak?”

“When I got the location, I went and had a look for myself. And I found the red lyrium, and I…studied it.” Bianca confessed. 

“You know what it does to people!” Varric shouted and Ivuni felt herself start at both the volume and the conviction in his voice.

“I was doing you a favor!” Bianca snapped back. “You want to help your brother, don’t you? I just...wanted to figure it out.”

“ _Did_ you figure it out?” Ivuni pressed.

“Actually…yes.” Bianca replied, a spark alight in her eyes. “I found out that red lyrium…it has the Blight, Varric. Do you know what that means?”

“What, that two deadly things combine to form something super awful?”

Lyrium could be…tainted. She had thought that red lyrium was just another form of lyrium, but darker, the way the world viewed blood magic as a darker component to magic. No one had ever put forth an argument to counter such a belief, so she had accepted it as fact. But Solas had insisted that magic was just magic. So lyrium was just lyrium. Except…it could be tainted with the Blight. It could be…

“Lyrium is alive, or something like it. Blight doesn’t infect minerals, only animals.” She paused in her explanation to let her words sink in. “I couldn’t get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden Mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right? And I found this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research. So I gave him a key.

“Larius? He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus’s…oh, shit.” Varric cursed and threw his hands into the air. “I knew something seemed off.”

“I didn’t realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven. I came here and…well…then I went to you.”

“That name mean something to you, Varric?” Ivuni asked.

“He was at the Grey Warden prison where we found Corypheus. And he definitely wasn’t a Mage before.”

She frowned and swallowed, then looked towards the only other woman in their immediate party. “You had to know we’d figure out what happened, Bianca. Why did you insist on coming with us?”

“Varric told me what people were doing with red lyrium…I had to help make this right.” For a moment, there was a tinge of regret in Bianca’s voice, a small measure of remorse. 

Ivuni forced a half smile to her face. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Maferath’s balls, she couldn’t!” Varric insisted. “I told her exactly how bad this shit was! I told her to keep away from it!”

“I know we screwed up, but we did fix it! It’s as right as I can make it!”

“This isn’t one of your machines. You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!”

“No, but I can try, can’t I? Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling stories of what I should have done?”

Varric scoffed. “As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!”

“Oh for pity’s sake, would you two just get a room?” Ivuni finally snapped. 

“Sorry, Inquisitor.” Varric turned and IVuni followed him back towards the doorway they had entered in through and the party gradually moved back onto the Roads. “We’ve done all we can here. Bianca, you’d better get home before someone misses you.”

“Varric…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged and waved a hand before he stomped off back towards the bridge that stood waiting ahead of them.

Ivuni turned and looked towards Bull who remained at the ‘rear of the party’, and then finally settled on Solas as he left the doorway, just beyond him Bianca seemed to linger, but she had already given that woman enough of her time. She shifted her focus back towards Solas as he moved towards her and she zeroed in on his empty hands, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she counted his steps and waited for the opportune moment to slide her palm against his. 

“Inquisitor.” Bianca forced herself back into her attention and Ivuni sighed, frustrated. Solas trailed a fingertip across the back of her hand as he moved by her.

“What?” She asked, frustration seeping into her tone. 

Bianca moved towards her and she was somewhat aware of Bull standing somewhat beyond the woman and kept careful pace with her shorter legs. When she finally came to pause just before her, Ivuni looked down and watched the shorter woman glance at Varric, the look held guarded in her features behind a constructed mask was one of…longing. The depth, regardless of how Bianca tried to keep it tempered, tugged at her curiosity, prompting her to wonder how anyone would let anything short of the entire world stand between her and what she so obviously loved. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs.”

Not exactly what she had anticipated. Of anything that she could have said, ‘thank you for saving my ass’ would have been far more welcome, Ivuni would have accepted even a simple ‘thanks’. A threat was hardly expected, let alone appreciated, especially after she had coerced them into the Deep Roads just to cover her own mess. And then Bianca turned and stalked off towards the rest of _her_ party. She wasn’t even one of them. She had _lured_ them down in the Deep Roads. It would be easy and easily dismissible were she to side step, bump Bianca with her hip, and topple the little bitch right over the edge of the cliff into the canyon. She could have been civil and offered her gratitude rather than her stupid threat after _her_ people had _helped_ her. Yet Bianca had the nerve to snap her tongue in such a manner, she could take a nice quick drop-

A large hand wrapped about her upper arm and drew her back and away from the shorter woman. Her irritated gaze whipped up to meet Bull’s patiently waiting eyes. “Too soon, boss.” He shook his head and a smile toyed with his lips. “You have to give it longer than twelve seconds before you attempt seeking retribution.” Then he lowered his face towards her ear. “I will totally cover for you, though.”

“I’m probably going to kill her.” She whispered to him.

He chuckled in response and the action vibrated against her. “I’ll have your back.”

“Thanks, Bull.” Then she stepped away from him and moved towards the rest of their party, glad when his steps fell in line with her own. Bianca stood near Varric as though she were waiting for him to turn towards and acknowledge her once more, yet he was apparently beyond offering her anymore of his time. She appreciated that fact. A few scouts stood with them, and Cassandra stood at the far end of the bridge that would take them back out of the Roads. 

Solas stood apart, leaning against the ornately carved frame of what had once been an archway. She watched him curl his left hand out form his side and snuff out one of the torches they had lit during their trek inward, then he turned his hand and the item relit once more. He bent magic the way she would turn a dagger about in her hand, with ease and honed skill. If she let herself, her mind would wander aimlessly with that information seeking meaning and possibilities she did not in that moment have time to toy with. Instead, she willed herself towards him and watched him stand in response. She trailed her fingertips against the inside of his wrist and he turned his hand about to capture hers with his own, braiding their fingers together.

 

Dorian had insisted it was probably more comfortable to sit on the barrel rather than on the ground with the rounded wooden belly against her back. But Dorian was used to be comfortable and sitting on the ground was far from second nature to him. She had simply smiled and replied with ‘perhaps’ as Harding had pushed a bowl into her waiting hands.

Movement near her left hip drew her focus down to a pair of large brown eyes framed by a pair of bushy eyebrows in a tiny furry face. It stared up at her imploringly the way a child would wait for their mother’s attention, then grin when they finally had it. When she lifted a brow as though to silently question its presence, its focus left her face and snapped to first the stew in her hands, then quickly to the hunk of bread on her lap.

She set her bowl down near the outer edge of her right thigh and then picked up the bread. It was simple enough to break it in half, and then halve the one of the halves. Looking back at the perky red squirrel, she slowly moved one of the small pieces out towards it, only for it to stagger a few steps backward, then it spun about once and quickly returned to her side, setting its tiny paws against her leg and leaning forward to sniff at the offering. Its fluffy tail twitched twice and then it quickly snatched the bread from her outstretched fingers, stuffing it quickly into its mouth and shoving it into one of its cheeks. Its nose twitched and then it clamored forward onto her lap until it could sit on its hind legs and set its paws on her chest. It sniffed at her chin and then froze at the sound of a spoon clattering quietly against a bowl.

“Andraste’s arse, you’re like some fairytale princess with these woodland vermin.” Sera wrinkled her nose. “I hear there was a wolf in Haven, and the Spooky One insists there were fennec in Crestwood.”

Both accounts were correct, and she at times wondered what had become of the wolf. She didn’t like to think that it had been caught up with the avalanche that had buried Haven. Ivuni looked back at the squirrel that sat perched inches from her face and offered it the other quarter of her bread piece which it accepted quickly. “It’s not as though I lure them in with song, or anything.” She replied with a smirk.

“Are you _ever_ going to charm anything with song?” Dorian chuckled. “I await such a display daily with great anticipation, darling.”

“Still, makes being a hunter easy, yeah?” Sera touched her forefinger to her nose, then flopped down onto the crate she had previously nudged into place. “Bet all the cute baby deer perk up when you step foot in the woods and come a-bounding, then fall all over themselves.”

As convenient as that would have been for her and her clan, it never happened that way. When she was out to hunt, her chances of winning game were just as thick or thin as anyone else trained to follow and find prey. “If only.” She sighed a the though of a perfect plump and mature doe walking right into a clearing simply because she willed it to. “There are other elves in our party, Dorian.”

He glanced towards Sera and then shook his head. “Not sure that one has the right…communion skills.” To which Sera snorted in reply. “And our resident apostate has assured me that my perception of elves in that regard is as stellar as he would expect of someone from Tevinter. So I have accepted that as disinclination to perform.”

“But…he hasn’t denied that he possesses the ability, though.” She teased. “Has he?”

“I’m sure he can charm _something_ with song.” Dorian grinned.

“Charm something right off.” Sera added, and Ivuni shook her head.

“Ah.” Dorian gestured with his chin over her. “Speak of the devil.”

Turning towards her right shoulder and then lifting her chin, she watched Solas move towards them, a small pack in his right hand. A frown stole across his features the closer he got to their little circle around the fire and he paused beside her, taking in three glowing gazes. He didn’t say anything, but there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Evening, Solas.”

“Dorian.”

“How were the Deep Roads?” Dorian asked before spooning a generous portion of stew.

Solas sat down beside her with the grace of a Halla and from across the further fire site, Harding made her way towards them an offered Solas a bowl that he accepted with a quiet ‘thank you’, then she made her way back and disappeared as though her only function for the evening was to be sure that everyone was fed. Then he moved to set the bowl down beside him, only to take account of the red squirrel that turned to look up at him. “Deep.” He replied, and the squirrel -cheeks stuffed- scampered away from them and back into the thin hollow of nearby trees.

“Huh.” Sera hummed. “Who’da thunk it.” She glanced at her bowl, tipped it over as though to be sure it was actually empty, then pushed herself to her feet and overexaggerated a yawn. “Well, clean bowl, fully belly. Time for bed. Fair dreams, everyone.”

“Ah, yes.” Dorian set his spoon in his bowl and briefly glanced about himself, before rising to his own feet. “Beauty sleep beckons.”

As the pair fell in step with each other and sauntered away just shy of being arm in arm, pairing together and disappearing into one of the further tents, Ivuni felt herself frown, then a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was an interesting sight to watch them together – of all people – agree on…anything. Then again, of anyone present, Sera had made it known on more than one occasion that she would kill Dorian last if she was forced into such a situation that called for their deaths. At first, it had struck her odd that Sera would for any reason consider such a situation to ever exist. Then she caught herself mentally considering such a list.

“You’re a frightening individual, it seems.” She commented as she turned herself. She watched him pull a book from his pack and she smiled to herself, turning further so that she could lean back and settle against the grass and turned his thigh into a makeshift pillow. First the squirrel, then the two that had suddenly made themselves scarce.

He pursed his lips and seemed to consider the notion, glancing down her. “I have yet to see you run.”

She smiled in reply and arched her neck slightly until it popped, then settled. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I often find myself wondering _what_ you are afraid of.” He drew a fingertip from the tip of her right ear and then down along the line of her jaw.

“Spiders.” She gave a few nods.

He chuckled in response. “Doubtful.”

“What do you mean, ‘doubtful’?” She sat up onto her elbows. “That is a legitimate thing to be afraid of. Eight legs and sticky spit.”

“I have watched you on numerous instances barrel first into spiders’ nests.”

“I _am_ the leader of the group.”

Solas seemed unmoved. 

“What? Eight legs are frightening.”

“It would seem, then, that it would be in better interest to never point out the arachnid constellation.” He mused.

Ivuni’s eyes widened even as she frowned, her gaze darting up towards the sky and its glittering stars. 

“No.” His hand slid over her eyes. “Don’t look.” He drawled, dry and sarcastic. “Turn your gaze away from that which you fear.” A snort of laughter curled up the back of her throat and she lifted her chin so that her mouth took the place beneath his palm and she nipped at the fleshy pad at the base of his thumb. Then his hand curled around the side of her face. “Wicked little thing.” He murmured before he drew her mouth up and lowered his own to meet her in the middle.


	17. Chapter 17

Her fingers released the arrow and it left her grip with speed and precision, but the snap back from the bowstring breaking apart brought her up short, her focus shifting away from her target and to her weapon. She barely huffed out a breath before a body was in front of her. 

“Don’t.” She tried to reach around the Seeker and managed little more than to catch her as she stumbled back against her. The sight of a pair of arrows protruding from Cassandra’s chest chased a chill down the length of her spine. Finding Florianne ready with another arrow drawn beyond Cassandra’s shoulder, Ivuni immediately fished a tiny flask from her pocket, did not bother to look at its contents and shattered it against her hip. There had only been one left for her to use.

The world came to a sudden blurred halt which provided her the opportunity to lower the Seeker’s form to the ground. Her hands immediately moved towards the offending arrow bolts, only to pause and hover at the sight, knowing full well it better in the moment to leave them lodged as they were. Tampering could further the damage already wrought, or worse. She wanted to seek Solas and Dorian and drag them over to her, but the lightening flask she had broken across herself was the last of her stash and its effects were not indefinite. Turning her gaze back towards the Duchess, Florainne stood tall and confident with an arrow knocked and ready to loose, though much like the rest of her surroundings, she barely even appeared to breathe let alone move.

Regardless of her station, the Grand Duchess had dared to threaten something and someone that Ivuni quietly considered _hers_ , part of her… _clan_. In her current state it would have been easy to disarm Florianne and put her on her knees for submission to the Inquisition’s judgement. But in the moment, with Cassandra’s blood on her hands, she saw more than just red. Her steps put her immediately before Florianne where she could have removed the bow from her hands to disarm her, but she moved on, positioned herself behind the other woman, pressed her left heel against the back of Florianne’s left knee and quickly wound her right hand into the short mop of pale hair, just as the effects sparking her heart into overaction subsided and the world shifted back into proper focus. 

Her fingers gripped tightly at the roots of Florianne’s hair and yanked the woman’s head back against her own right shoulder. She reached her left hand back around her waist, grasped at the curved blade she had once selected with Bull’s input from the small of her back, and hastily drew a deep red line across the Duchess’s throat, spraying the courtyard in blood. She exhaled, audibly as her surroundings sharpened. With a huff and a shove, Ivuni pushed the limp body away from herself and it collapsed against the ground before her, the fourth and fifth fingers of the left hand twitching ever so slightly. 

“Cassandra.” She breathed as she rushed to the woman’s side. Once more assessing the pair of arrows protruding from the right side of the Seeker’s chest, Ivuni carefully lowered herself to her knees and struggled with what to do. The first thing she was ever taught as a child if she were shot with an arrow was _not_ to immediately pull it free, but as Cassandra gasped for breath, abiding that rule was a very trying feat. Her fingers splayed gently between each bolt, set cautiously against her chest as she struggled with how to proceed. It would be easy in a field, but the woman before her meant something.

Hands darker than her own slid across the Seeker’s chest and lavender magic immediately set to work, then pale fingers joined and green magic braided into the effort. 

“She can’t breathe.” She told them.

“She will be fine, vhenan.” Solas murmured to her, shifting intentionally to let his shoulder brush against hers. 

“The arrows need to come out.” She pressed, her hands beginning to tremble.

“Patience.” He replied, gently, reassuringly. He could have been harsh and insistent that she collect herself and give them room, but instead he offered her a sliver of compassion.

“We don’t want to turn holes into fountain outlets.” Dorian attempted a chuckle.

When blood pushed up and streaked from the corners of Cassandra’s mouth, Ivuni’s anxiety pitched. “Hurry up.” She pressed the Mages. “She needs to be able to breathe!”

A pair of arms wrapped about her waist and hoisted up and backward. “Come on, Glowbug, let the boys do their thing.” Her grip tightened even as Ivuni struggled to squirm free, until Cassandra finally coughed, blood splattering her lips and chin. “You got an uppity empress to meet with.” 

 

“Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard.” Briala all but sneered at the Grand Duke.

Gaspard scoffed, his left hand lifted from his side waving to dismiss her words as though they were little more than smoke held suspended in the air. “You’re the spymaster, if anyone knew this atrocity was coming it was you.”

“You don’t deny your involvement.” 

“I do deny it.” He snapped back at her. “I knew nothing of Florianne’s plan, but you, you knew it all and did nothing.”

Briala chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t know which is better, that you think I am all seeing or that you’re trying so hard to play innocent and failing.”

“Enough.” Celene cut between them both, her attention shifting back and forth between them, the adult between a pair of squabbling children. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation. For the safety of the empire, I will have answers.”

Ivuni frowned as her footsteps brought her to meet them. It was only slightly unnerving that Sera had fallen behind her at Bull’s insistence that she stand and face the Orlesian royal trio on her own two legs. “Every one of you is implicated.” She informed them, her tone dry and tired. “You all conspired to allow this to happen.”

“That’s a bold claim, Inquisitor.” Celene cautioned. “Are you prepared to defend it?”

She smirked in reply, mentally organizing every shred of her collected evidence much as she still at times organized her peers. “You allowed the Grand Duke to sneak soldiers in, hoping he’d make a politically foolish move.”

“That’s duplicitous.” Gaspard spoke, yet he was not all agitation and anger as she thought he ought to be, a modicum of amusement colored his voice. “Even for you, Celene.”

“Of course, Briala was outplaying everyone.” Ivuni sighed again and looked first to Celene, and then to Gaspard. “She killed your negotiators and forged new documents.”

“So what if I did?” Briala rolled her eyes and folded her arms. It was a hiding action, whether or not she was aware of it, to close herself off and it made her appear all the guiltier. “Take me down and elves will riot in every city in the Empire.”

Of course that was her counter defense, she believed herself too important to succumb to punishment for her crimes. So very much like the humans involved. “No, they won’t.” Ivuni shook her head as she turned to face her. “Not when they learn you were sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral’s alienage.” It made her nauseous thinking that Briala had stood by as it happened, watched it happen, and then took the woman responsible back to her bed. She briefly pressed her eyes shut to realign her thoughts. “And Gaspard fell for Celene’s trap and was going to attack the palace.” If they wanted a list, she could have one compiled for them to read if it would allow her to leave them.

“You’ve made your point.” Celene conceded, finally. “What do you want?”

“You are three of the best minds in the empire.” She focused on the Empress first, once more, before she afforded Briala and Gaspard her attention. “You could do so much for Orlais and your people if you’d stop fighting.” They each held sway and voice with a third of the populace that lived within the lines of the Empire of Orlais. So much power at their fingertips and they were blind to the other pair of party members that completed the puzzle of their lives.

“It is remarkably optimistic to believe that the three of us could ever forget our differences, Inquisitor.” Celene pointed out.

“I am not insisting that you forget them.” Ivuni countered. “I am insisting you put your people before yourselves.”

 

“I must confess my intrigue over this turn of events.” Leliana’s voice and presence summoned her away from the edge of the balcony. Unlike with her approach about the Wardens’ banishment, there was interest and amusement in her tone. “You very easily could have ended one or two of their lives had you so desired. Yet you have allowed all three of them to remain with their lives intact.”

“It is both a bold and diplomatic approach to the situation.” Josephine mused. “Hopefully our presence and motions through Thedas will keep them from killing each other.”

“We don’t need them to endure this way indefinitely.” She sighed. “They only need to remain a functioning triumvirate until Corypheus is dead. Whatever happens afterward will be dealt with then.” Gaspard to represent the Chevaliers and soldiers, Celene to carry the Orlesian people, and Briala to act as the voice of the elves. They each had their role to play, however each of their roles ended would be accorded when necessary, and perhaps by their own hands. Had she executed or exiled one of the three, the favor garnered from this evening would have tipped drastically.

“Orlais’ military would have bloated our ranks at Celene’s command, though without Gaspard’s influence, their desire and ability to follow command may have proven lacking. That and we could have lost the Chevaliers on the whole all together.” Cullen pressed the knuckle of his forefinger against his chin. “From a military standpoint, keeping them both in power and bound to one another assures a solid backing.”

“Briala was not off her mark when she noted the elves would riot in light of her death.” Leliana added. “Regardless of the truths that would have been brought into focus by her relationship with Celene, many innocents would potentially lose their lives in the initial unrest.” When the Nightingale’s eyes settled on her, she held her gaze without waver. “Keeping her alive keeps the City elves quelled for the time being.”

Her actions and decision had made a gain for City elves. How man of her kind would balk at such? How many would now see her as little more than a human elf, a sympathizer with those who had turned their back on their culture, a Flat-ear? How many would turn her out if she happened upon their clans. One step forward, and another step back, much as it had been when she had made her first choices within the Inquisition. Ally with the Mages, anger the Templars. Elves were elves were elves…

_We are all of the same people._ Deshanna’s voice hummed in her thoughts, words she had echoed to Solas when they had first met. _Marked or unmarked, hearts beat in tune with a shared ancient rhythm._

“It is curious that they gave into this request without much argument.” Josephine tilted her head, a smile toying with her lips.

“There was…a stirring of argument.” She gave a nod in response. “However, our attendance here allowed for the accumulation of plenty enough leverage to have each member swayed to our bidding. Florianne’s conniving, display, and her death actually proved somewhat beneficial to the extension posed and offered forth for truce.”

Cullen folded his arms across his chest and rocked onto the balls of his feet. “I had not pegged you for being so politically adept, Inquisitor, I must confess that I -at least- am soundly impressed.”

Ivuni couldn’t help but smile. “Do you think I stand in the war room and listen to the three of you push and pull without taking away from each meeting?” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes almost accusingly. “Commander, I may feel offended.”

Then he chuckled, a warm and boyish sound. “As well as you might bend these nobles to your whims, I highly doubt that I of all people could offer you any sort of offense at the moment.”

“With a few well-placed words, you have brought Orlais to bear at the Inquisition’s table.” Josephine pointed out and the thrill in her voice was difficult to mask, though try as she might. “You have once more taken a source of power out of Corypheus’ reach, much as was done with the Wardens. He has been stripped on an army and now political manipulation.”

“What do you think his next course of action will entail?” She asked, somewhat exhausted by the idea.

“Let us take measure in this victory for the evening and bother with that in the morning, hm?” Leliana smiled. “Now that Celene, Gaspard, and Briala have for the moment been tended to and you have made the acquaintance of Celene’s Arcane Advisor, Morrigan, you should be allowed to enjoy the rest of your evening, Inquisitor.” She offered a tip of her head and both Josephine and Cullen followed suit, filing around her back into the party, leaving her alone on the balcony.

Alone, briefly.

A sense of relief washed over her at the sight of Solas moving towards her. She took a single step back towards the banister and leaned against it as he joined her. He looked her over and she wondered what she must look like. Her hair probably disheveled as evidenced by stray wavy tendrils brushing over her left shoulder when it had been gathered back snuggly at the beginning of the evening. A good portion of the lower half of her dress had been frayed and torn free by her own hand in effort to make moving about the garden easier when faced with Florianne, and she had already taken note of several splatters of crimson against her tan legs. 

“Thoughts?” He asked, simple.

“We achieved all of our goals. I’m enjoying the moment of peace while it lasts.” Because it existed for the briefest of flashes and would flicker out of their reach soon enough.

“You should. They’re fleeting enough.” He commented, a soft smile lighting his eyes as he reached a hand forward to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her right ear. “Hang onto them when you can.” His fingers grazed the length before settling momentarily at the tip, then he tucked them around the shell. “Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me.” He moved back towards the open doorway, only to pause and turn back to offer his hand out to her, palm up, fingers gently curled, a waiting invitation.

“I’d love to.” And she slipped her hand against his.

He pulled her towards him and she advanced willingly, positioning herself before him until their bodies were little more than a hair’s breadth from touching torso to torso. He held her right hand out in his left, and then slid his free hand about her waist. The first three steps set the pace and their motions fell in tune with the band, he led and she followed. He guided and turned her with ease in synch with the thrum of the music, their motions slowing as the tune dwindled.

She stood between his arms, swaying gently, even after the music had ceased and she would have given anything to have let the silence settle without interruption.

“Come, vhenan.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she looked up at him. “You are exhausted.” 

“I could dance another hundred turns.” She argued and he stifled a chuckle.

“Doubtful.” He pressed a lingering kiss against her temple. “To bed with you.” 

“To bed with _you_.”

He turned to put himself at her side and he drew away enough that his hand slid the length of her arm so that he could tangle their fingers together as they moved back towards the ballroom. He gave a squeeze and drew their joined hands upward to press a kiss to her knuckles as the readied to cross the threshold between the balcony and the palace. Then he released her as her bare feet left stone for marble and Solas put a respectable distance between them, folding his hands behind his hips. He was meant to be her servant.

She offered only a fair few words and a few glances towards nobles who addressed her in passing, citing subtly her desire to turn in for the evening. They managed to leave the ballroom and guests behind for the guest wing with little fuss. 

Once the hallway’s doors had been drawn shut behind them she reached once more for him and he drew her again against his side. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional, the way he traced his fingers lightly across her bare shoulder, barely skimming her clavicle. 

“Solas.” She barely whispered his name before his mouth was on hers, drawing her in against him, stepping backward from the direct hall with her secure in his arms, coaxing her towards another set of doors.

They separated barely more than an inch, breaths staggered, eyes locked. 

His fingers set against her chin and then swept lightly along her jaw towards her left ear, curling around it and sinking his fingers into her hair. There was restraint in his gaze when it dropped to her lips and she watched him hesitate, watched him fight with himself over whether to close the dismal space between them again. It was an unending struggle, it seemed, that he imposed on himself, and she often found herself wondering if it was for her benefit or his own. She could see it though, want lingering beneath the surface, longing, an undercurrent of desire to simply give in. That was the part of him that seemed perpetually fighting to be free. And that was the part of him that she tipped to as she leaned in and made the decision for him.

For all his internal conflict, his willingness and his fervor stole the breath rough from her lungs the moment their lips met. It was like trying to suppress the sea at high tide as she fought against him for some measure of control. His fingers curled against her scalp, tugging, all but crushing her mouth to his, lips demanding, tongue sweeping and she parted to let him in. He tasted like honey and mint, as though he had just set down a fluted glass of mead. Perhaps that was what spurred the insistence with which he guided her out of the hall and into the dark secluded room, and at some point, she became aware of the sturdy line of wall that met her upper back.

The weight of her hair slid away from the crown of her head and tumbled over her shoulders and down towards her waist, the ends brushing any exposed skin that her frayed dress allowed. One hand fell away from her briefly, only to resettle at her ribs, gripping at the fabric of her bodice drawing her form flush against his own. She leaned into him, right arm sliding about his shoulders while her left hand toyed with the buttons of his jacket. When the hand at her waist slid down and around her hip further for a fuller handful, she turned them quickly and pressed him back against the wall.

A spark of electricity rippled across her lower back and her hips angled more directly against his without her outright insistence for them to do so, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat. When he repeated the spell her lips broke from his with an audible pop and she nuzzled her brow against the side of his neck, then tilted her chin to press an open mouthed kiss to the warm skin beneath his jaw. Her teeth moved on to frame the prominent tendon at the side of his throat and he rolled himself against her in response, his arousal warm and solid against her hip.

“Vhenan.” He breathed out into the dark. She felt his whole form stiffen and his hands were suddenly cupping her face, drawing her eyes up to search his own. “Please, stop, not…” he swallowed, the action thick. For a moment, his head tipped back against the wall behind him and he closed his eyes. 

Concern spiked cold and glaring straight up from the very center of her being, accompanied quickly by unease and a flush of embarrassment. She swallowed in response and tried to step out of his hold, only for him to tighten it to keep her where she was. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. 

“Don’t.” He huffed out quickly as he leaned forward once more to allow their brows to meet. “Please, do not apologize. Not for this.”

“Do you not want…” her words broke out of fear of finishing the thought. _This? Me?_

He exhaled and then tipped himself to take her lips up in another kiss, chaste and lingering. “I want _too_ much.”

 

The room, she realized, was the one that had been afforded to her upon their arrival in Halamshiral, an ‘apartment’ fitting her position, as Vivienne had pointed out. Though the Enchantress had grumbled something about a lack of proper bedding as she had taken the edge of the duvet between her fingers and thumb.

Solas had insisted she rest, pressed a kiss against the top of her head, and then left her to crawl beneath the weight of the waiting sheets and blankets. She had made quick work of removing the dress, basically ripping it the rest of the way off of herself and then slid into the sleeping gown that had been left out on the foot of the bed.

The Fade fluttered against her mind like waves lapping at the edge of the beach. Her dress fluttered about her and her fingers trailed along the split seam, the soft silken gauze catching between her fingers. The flickering blue firelight of the temple-

“Vhenan, vhenan, vhenan.” A voice quietly broke through the silence and she was drawn back from the brink of dreaming. She opened her eyes to find Cole pacing slowly near the end of her bed, pausing only to set his hands against the frame’s tall corner post. “Didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to hide, but wanted more, wanted the silver and bone like it was. Now there’s leather and pain and it is so…distorted. But the heart is sharp, cutting like a knife.”

“Cole.”

“She is so real.”

Ivuni pushed herself up to sit and the blankets fell down around her hips.

“Pushing away makes it hurt more.” He all but whispered. “Roses and petals and thorns. A punctured heel and music in the air. Fen’Harel take me.”

“Cole.”

Then he looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. “He is dreaming of you.”

She left her ridiculously extravagant bed and padded quietly out through the room’s doors once more. The main hall was all but silent save a single further down the hall back towards the main part of the palace, only every other sconce on either wall was lit and burning low. She crossed the hall’s width with silent effort and counted the doors, trying to remember each designation that Vivienne had given her in regard to their party’s seeming standing in court. The furthest door in the far corner of the hall gave with little effort and allowed her into a small tidy room with little more than a bed, a desk with a single chair, and a short bookshelf with a few select tomes; quarters for a well-kept servant. She frowned at the poor accommodations and everything they implied.

She watched his shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm, his face to the wall, his mind lost to the Fade, and she closed the door quietly behind her. She hesitated only briefly as her knees bumped gently against the edge of the small bed. It was ridiculous really that he was given something so simple when she had been given something far too grand for a Dalish elf used to the wild, the hard ground, and little more than the stars over head. 

He shifted when she drew at the blankets and slid herself in beside him. He turned from his left side onto his right and she murmured half coherently about dark dreams before he sighed. His hands made easy work of rolling her over onto her side to face away from him and then drew her form back flush against his. She snuggled in against one of his pillows and warm lips pressed against the meeting point of her neck and shoulder, eliciting a contented sigh and any measure of tension held taut within her form dissolved. “Ar lath ma.” He breathed against her ear.


	18. Chapter 18

“It’s not going to happen.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, shifting against him, and she lifted her right hand up before them towards the dark sky. She snapped her fingers together and nothing happened, then she turned her hand about with a slight flourish, and the stars held fast to glimmering overhead. “Nothing.” No spark, no flicker of fire, no tuft of smoke, nor wash of fog. There was nothing to define her from any other non-magical being, no matter the encouragement he posed.

“Have you ever tried to use magic?” He asked, his fingers combing through her hair, the slightest of sparks skating across her scalp sent a shiver down her spine. When she turned her face in against his chest and groaned, she felt his quiet laughter reverberate against her cheek.

Then he drew his magic back away from her skin, she looked up at him. “Uhm…remember on the mountain when we met -Cassandra and Varric were there, the first rift, you introduced yourself- you said that I didn’t appear to be a Mage?” She smiled, and her brows lifted. “Still the same person now as I was then. Still not a Mage.”

“I didn’t ask if you were a Mage, I asked if you have ever tried to use magic.” He clarified, as if that made his first question mean any more. 

She was sure that she looked like she was trying to imagine blue and green making orange as she tried to make sense of him. Solas held her gaze and it was apparent that he wasn’t going to let the matter drop until she actually produced a direct answer. Clearly, she was not a Mage, as he himself had commented on prior, but he was inquiring if she had ever used magic, or had ever at least tried to. Didn’t one need to be a Mage to use magic?

No. ‘Mage’ was an identification applied, not necessarily taken. She knew that. She knew that magic revealed itself in different forms, could be conjured voluntarily or not. It did not need a will to materialize, nor did it need the conduction of a staff to be manipulated. 

Solas had not asked if she was a Mage.

Her lips rolled in between her teeth and she exhaled as she let her eyes briefly fall away from him. She set her right hand against his shoulder and used the point to push herself a little further upward onto her hip and let her left hand set against the grass for support, her arm crossing beneath his. When she looked back at him, she found him looking at her expectantly, curiosity plain as day on his face. She lifted her right hand again, set three fingers against his shoulder, then proceeded to rub them back and forth rather vigorously against the soft wool of his tunic until she felt a snap, felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As quickly as she could manage, she rolled her hand over to look at her palm and a spark of purple popped between her fingers. 

“There.” She smirked. “That’s the extent of my _magic_.” When she looked up at him amused, she found him once more staring at her, his eyes shifting back and forth between her own. Her head tilted questioningly as her smile faded. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was that was looking back at her, what he was searching her for, but she held his gaze and let him continue his investigation.

“That was magic.” He said quietly as he finally pulled his focus away and dropped it towards her hand. 

“That was not really magic.” She shook her head and a simple laugh escaped her to fill the quiet.

Solas pushed himself forward, away from the felled tree trunk he had leaned himself back against to sit straighter beside her. “Yes, it was.” He reached for her then even as she turned her body and folded her legs before herself. His left hand lifted and cradled the back of her right and he created a tiny ball of electricity between his free fingers, then let it fall against her upturned palm. It sparked and she jumped. The magic fizzled and extinguished. “You have to think of it like you did before, as if it were yours.” He instructed gently as he drew another crackling sphere out of thin air. He closed his fingers around hers until they came back together and he set the sparking ball at her fingertips. As she had with her own created spark, she made herself hold the magic he offered, then flexed her fingers and the electricity danced across her hand before quickly dispelling itself in the wake of her lacking control. 

Ivuni turned her hand so that she could wrap her fingers about his wrist. “I’m no Mage, vhenan.” She pushed a smile back onto her face to chase the twisting sensation that settled into the center of her chest. Lifting his hand upward, she turned his palm towards her face and pressed a warm kiss against the slightly callused skin. “Sorry to disappoint.” And her smooth façade threatened to crack.

His hand pushed out of her hold and curled around the side of her neck, his thumb settled into the tiny notch at the corner of her jaw. The grip he formed by curling his fingers around her allowed him to draw her nearer to himself. His brows pinched and he searched her eyes once more, shifted back and forth between each half a dozen times before he swallowed as he looked down at her lips. “You have yet to prove a disappointment.” He breathed against her mouth. “In any way, shape, or form.” His nose bumped against hers, coaxing her to tip slightly to the left so he could more easily join their lips together. He framed hers with his own, traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue before he swept it along the waiting seam. When she parted for him, she felt the fingers of his free hand sink into the loose heavy waves of her hair. 

His magic danced along the shell of her ear and her lips slackened into a sigh against his mouth giving him the better opening he had been seeking and he pushed his tongue into her mouth. It traced the insides of her lips, the backs of her teeth, then delved further as though he could bring her closer to himself with a kiss. It chased her thoughts, pushed them to the far corners of her mind, and her body simply responded. She scooted closer to him, putting herself somewhat side saddle across his lap and he lifted his free arm to cradle her form.

Her fingers trailed his jaw before a set slipped down the side of his neck and toyed with the collar of his green undershirt. She slackened her own counter pressure against him, bit at his lower lip, and then tipped her head to seek the soft skin beneath his chin. He hummed quietly, approvingly, and the warm sound compelled her further. She nipped along the column of his throat and he tipped his head aside, yielding to her.

Leliana’s quiet voice offering some form of argument, stern and unwavering, tugged her focus back into place. Footsteps approaching from the south, however hesitantly, prompted her to halt her advancement and momentarily press her forehead against his jaw, a groan of disappointment rising up the back of her throat and a chuckle curled up from his. 

When she turned enough to see them, and offer a silent invitation for them to move closer, Leliana folded her hands behind herself and took the initiative; Josephine moved second, and then Cullen brought up the rear of their small number.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen spoke first, though there was hesitation in his eyes.

“What is it?” She asked, no demand in her tone, no accusation. There was no real reason to offer either to any of them. 

Cullen lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck as he seemed to struggle to compose himself. She was aware of the way he sought to look anywhere but at her directly and she allowed him to collect his thoughts. 

“We have been in contact with your clan.” Leliana took control of the direction of the conversation. “They were camped near Wycome.”

Ivuni shifted off of Solas’s lap and then up onto her knees, sitting on her heels, her brow furrowed with a growing horde of questions forming at the tip of her tongue. “And now?” She hesitated.

“We have sent agents, scouts, and diplomats to investigate what is happening within the city, as well as to attempt negotiations.” Josephine answered. “There was a firm Venatori hold discovered present within and the human populace were falling ill for unknown reasons. There was blame pointed at the elves as they did not present with symptoms. The Duke meant to wrought a purge of the alienage, and your clan was nearby.”

She was on her feet in the next beat, her eyes pressed shut as though she could block out what Josephine was trying to convey. “What is the state of my people?” Her voice threatened to falter, nearly broke at the tail end of her inquiry as she opened her eyes once more and fixated on the pretty brunette. _Her people_. She was sure to select her wording with care.

Cullen pushed between the other two women and handed her a folded parchment. At first, she stared at it. If she accepted it from him, she would have to open it, she would have to read its contents. She would have to know. She would have to accept what was written. If she kept her hands to herself, then whatever was written within and waiting to be read could be tucked away and not be real. Fear kept her rooted to the spot and a lighter hand plucked the correspondence out of the commander’s offered hand. Solas looked at the worn edges and she watched him, all but tried to will him with thought alone to open it for her..

She continued to stare at the scrap. “Vhenan.” He murmured, and she shook herself.

Ivuni looked up at him briefly, resisting the urge to roll her lower lip between her teeth and then she sighed. Her resignation set in and she reluctantly unfolded the short report, only to find it written in Deshanna’s hand rather that a scout’s or agent’s. Her clan was within the city’s walls, the Duke dead. Red lyrium found in clean water wells. The Dalish interspersed amongst the city elves, and the remaining humans presently extending a decent hand. She exhaled a quivering breath and the hand holding the note fell down at her side, a measure of relief taking hold.

“The current looming issue,” Leliana began, “is the nearby allied cities.”

“We could attempt to quell the neighboring cities diplomatically.” Josephine offered.

Cullen shook his head. “If we negotiate, the Marchers will kill the elves, then send apologies.” He paused, letting his words sink in and waited for her to meet his gaze, his voice softening. “We need to send troops to fortify the city. If we set a foothold within Wycome, the other cities will have no way to slip within to execute their twisted form of justice.”

When she glanced towards Leliana, the spymaster gave no opinion or indication of which approach she felt the best course of action. Ivuni swallowed again and looked back to Cullen. “How long until our soldiers are able to reach Wycome?”

“If they break camp and split from us within the hour, and the winds and tides are favorable, they could be there in just under four days.” He offered with a nod of his head. “That would put them within the city before the neighboring Marchers could muster properly.”

She gave a nod of understanding. “Then I suggest we be on our way.” 

When she moved to step around them, she noted Cullen looking over her shoulder, likely seeking Solas as an intermediary to intercept her. “Inquisitor-”

“I am going.” She cut him off before he could properly formulate his argument. “You have managed to keep this from me until this point and I am going to assume your actions were taken in light of what you felt was best for me and the rest of the Inquisition. For that and the care you have offered thus far, I am grateful. But you will not keep me from that city or the people holed up within.”

“Inquisitor, I am sure our people can manage this well enough without putting you at the center.” Cullen tried. 

“I am not disputing the capability of the Inquisition’s soldiers.” She replied calmly. “But you intend them towards _my people_ and I will not sit idly by while _any_ army moves on them, amicably or not.”

“The Dalish-” He attempted once more.

“I am not simply referring to the Dalish.” 

“Oi, we can put this to use, then!” A voice shouted from the center fire of camp as Sera hurried over and put herself into their small gathering, she didn’t even have the time to wonder where she had actually come from, her old bow in the other woman’s hands. She was surprised, though, to see it restrung. “Here.” Sera shoved the item into Ivuni’s waiting hands.

Turning her focus down to it, she looked over the new string, finding a slight glimmer of green. 

“Craftsman wove viridium into the cord.” Sera huffed as she rocked back onto her heels. “Says its all Fade-y special and shite.” She plucked it with her fingers. “Should prove a bit harder to break.” Then she chuckled. “I was gonna wrap it up all shiny with a ribbon.” When Ivuni frowned, she laughed again. “Winter Solstice in a few days…” Sera shrugged. “Thought you were all super elfy. Well, whatever. Should be gettin’ gone then, yeah?” Sera then turned on her heel and moved back towards camp, waving a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll prod Varric and Bull.”

“Sera…” She took a few steps after the other archeress, but again the blonde waved a hand over her shoulder, muttering something about not wanting to hear something shite like thanks. Glancing down once more at the bow, she lifted it up before herself, wrapped her hand around the grip and then eyes the string once more before she drew at it with the fingers of her left hand. The draw was tighter and required a slightly heavier pull, but when she released and it snapped back into place with the slightest hum, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“It would be best to make our way by ship across the Waking Sea once we are ready to leave Ferelden.” Cullen brought her focus back to planning. “That would keep us from moving through Marcher territories and informing them of our presence and intent.”

Leliana nodded. “If we alert them to our movements, they would attempt to thwart us prematurely. Though that could prove beneficial in that they would not be properly formed in their number and ranks, their desperation to outmaneuver our people could threaten those still within Wycome.”

“I will send word ahead with Lady Genevieve to arrange our passage.” Josephine offered with a cautious smile. “Is there anything that you require before we set out?”

Ivuni shook her head. “No, though I appreciate your asking.” She briefly glanced at Solas who stood just out of reach, his features as neutral as ever in official company. “I’ll speak with the others about setting out. Whomever wishes to remain, is welcome to return to Skyhold.”

 

Regardless of the gift and the planning, the journey to Wycome from the edge of the Stormcoast was mentally taxing and her constant concealed worry kept her from fulling slipping into the Fade when she tried to seek a moment of rest. Which meant her sleep was broken and her mind a ramshackle of a mess. She paced, for hours at a time, occasionally at the edge of camp, and then the deck of the ship that carried them across the waking sea. 

It wasn’t until the third night, with less than a day’s worth of travel, that she was wrestled down into shared bedrolls with Solas’s firm arm tucked about her waist, his warm form against her back, and his breath whispered against her ear that she felt herself _finally_ slip under. 

“Tell me about the People, from before.” She asked him when she opened her eyes. The camp quietly sprawled out around them, him slouched back against a stack of shipping crates and storage, she tucked against his side staring up at the night sky. “Were they taller?”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest and against her side. “What is your obsession with elves being taller?”

“I’m one of the shortest elves that I know, please at least humor me.”

“Of the ghosts I have perceived in the Fade, I do not believe they were any taller than elves today.” He shrugged gently. “Though the few remnants I have found are memories given life by spirits that interpret them based on environmental influence.”

“Maybe they were shorter.”

“That too is possible, though I would doubt such.”

She pursed her lips and focused once more on the stars, tracing the points and invisible lines that made up the Bear, wondering who decided which animal belonged to which god. Had it always been that way? If they were real, were they capable of shifting into the respected animals? Or did they simply favor them and count them sacred unto themselves? Mythal the dragon, Dirthamen the bear, Ghilan’nain the halla, Fen’Harel the wolf…

“Did they know the gods?” She deviated from pressing him further with her inquiries about the heights of the ancients. “Did they ever truly walk amongst the People?” When she turned her eyes away from the stars and fixated on him, he was staring at the fire before them. 

“That is not something that I have perceived in the Fade.” He sighed. “Perhaps those memories are too old for any existing spirits to recall properly.”

“I just want to know if the stories are real. If they existed side by side with the People. If Fen’Harel really locked them away from the world.”

“You question whether the God of Trickery jailed the other Creators?”

“He was one god.”

“The Dalish believe he managed to trick the Creators into being sealed away in the heavens, and the Forgotten ones into the abyss.” He regurgitated the tale with little enthusiasm. “Then he spent centuries at the edge of the world _giggling with glee_.”

“What if it wasn’t the sound of laughter that echoed across the world?” She ventured, wary of the direction her thoughts could take her, having considered them a hundred times before in silence, far too afraid to ever voice them aloud within her own or any clan. “What if it was sobbing?” She shifted slightly against him, her eyes slipping away from the fire and towards the tents nearby as though Deshanna would run out and scold her for her wayward thoughts. “I know it sounds…sad.” She settled on the word and sighed against him. “But wouldn’t it be? Locking away the others of your kind to face the world alone?” Her eyes slid to the fire in front of them and she felt a fluttering ache in her chest as she hovered on the thought of being completely and utterly alone. “Maybe it wasn’t mad laughter and joy at what he had accomplished, but rather anguish over what he had done and was forced to face.”

Silence lingered between them and she waited for him to comment or to let the thought hang in continued silence, or critique, or _something_. She had considered the angle, as well as a dozen others countless times over the course of her life, wondering, always wondering. Of all the people she could have confessed such a consideration to, she had thought Solas would have taken it as an interesting perspective before offering his comments or criticism, but instead, he sat quietly and unmoving except to breathe against her. Maybe he was mulling it over, trying to decide where to start picking.

“How very un-Dalish of you to sympathize with such a monster.” He said, his voice solemn.

Ivuni inhaled and then exhaled slowly, the ache behind her ribs subsiding briefly, only to flare back to life as she spoke. “Our stories paint him a monster, some great adversary, but I’ll always wonder how much of the legend is based on fact, and how much was created to fill in gaps.” She tried to force the corners of her mouth to turn upward gently, but the attempt failed rather quickly. “Anyone can become a monster.” Given the proper circumstances.

His fingers brushed at a few stray waves that curled over the right side of her collarbone, sweeping them back to reveal the semi bare skin of her shoulder. A few mindless circles were drawn against her skin before his muscles tensed and warm lips pressed against the area he had cleared. As the dream wriggled free of her hold, it blurred at the edges and she closed her eyes to give in to waking.

 

She wrapped her hands around the soldier’s jaw and forehead and twisted sharp and quick, a wet popping sound before she let the body fall lifeless to the ground. Then she reached back and flipped her bow back into her hands, not giving another moment of hesitation before she drew the string back and put an arrow in the throat of an enemy scout tucked away near the gate.

Cullen had tried to rally their troops into proper formations before marching on the city, but the presence of Duke Windham and his sparse number of troops pushing against the gate had prompted her into action the moment she had noted half a dozen Dalish returning from what she assumed a hunting trip outside the city’s walls.

From beyond the gate, she could make out Deshanna’s familiar voice shouting instructions. They were not ‘orders’ as she had so often insisted when she gave them. A militant issued orders, a Keeper gave knowledgeable instruction. At least she did, until angered.

An arrow whistled over her left shoulder and impaled an incoming warrior toppling the hulking man over onto his side. When she glanced to the origin of the arrow, she was not surprised to find Sera and a smirk before the blonde put another pair of arrows in another pair of bodies. From her right, she felt a barrier fall around her, wrapping tightly about her like a second skin. And then steel cut through her view of the Mage who turned himself away from her, burying the end of a longsword in the chest of the warrior initially felled by the smart mouthed archeress lost somewhere else in the fray. 

They had once been quite the disjointed band what seemed like ages gone by, and now they were anticipating each other’s moves and actions the way a couple or company would choreograph a well-planned dance.

Blood splattered across her cheek and a blade bit against her chin and lower lip just before she could lift her elbow and shatter a nose. Her attacker stumbled back and Ivuni managed to turn herself away from the bladed rogue enough to draw an arrow back against string and let it slide between a set of ribs. 

The sound of approaching footsteps had her spinning on the ball of her right foot with another arrow notched ready when she came face to face with the individual she had sought upon barreling down towards the city’s gates. His dark brown eyes searched hers, a scowl plastered to his face, then his gaze flicked to her left hand where the familiar emerald glowed. She lifted her fourth and fifth fingers just enough to expose the mark for a better look and the human’s eyes widened. 

“Enough!” The Duke’s voice bellowed across the tiny battlefield. “My Lady Inquisitor.” He dropped the tip of his sword into the blood tinted dirt and pressed a fist against his chest. “Your soldiers are not flying your heraldry.”

Around her, she noted the fighting grinding to a slow halt. “Difficult to divulge an identity when you strike first and ask questions afterward.”

“My apologies, My Lady.” He briefly pressed his teeth together. “Forgive my offense, I simply noted…”

“Pointed ears?” She cut back. “If you wish to save any of your remaining soldiers’ lives, you will remove yourself from this field.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“And you will engage my Commander in offering reparation for any lives your naivete has cost the Inquisition.” She did not linger long enough to accept any retort or offer any further order, she slug her bow across herself and made for the city’s gates.

“Ivuni.” A familiar voice greeted, somewhat taken aback, from the other side of the wall.

“Open the gates, Doshiel.” She called even as Cassandra fell in step with her.

“Cullen is already on Windham.” The Seeker assured her. 

“I may have liked to have relieved him of his head.” 

Cassandra offered a short chuckle in reply. “I doubt anyone would have faulted you for taking it, even his own people may have turned a blind eye.”

Gears groaned into action and metallic teeth turned back on themselves.

“I want every member of the Inquisition behind these walls and our banner on the battlements before any other Marcher house and military arm poses a threat stupid enough to engage us again.”

“You are becoming quite…good at this, Inquisitor.” A fist bumped lightly against her shoulder and the Seeker bowed out of her company.

“Da’len.” Deshanna’s voice. “I did not anticipate your direct involvement when I sent my last correspondence.” The Keeper advised as she moved forward to greet her. “I would have preferred not to see you so…” her eyes swept her form, “bloodied, da’len.”

“It is good to see you as well, ‘Shanna.” The older woman’s hand lifted out towards her, sliding around the back of her head and drawing her forward until their brows met. There were a few new lines at the edges of Deshanna’s eyes, though even they could not detract from the woman’s appearance. Regardless of age and wear, her Keeper had aged well through the course of her life, and barely looked to breach her fourth decade of life when she was well within the early years of her fifth. “Where is-”

“You stupid girl!” Elwen’s voice cut through the courtyard and her form pressed through elves and humans alike without any regard to identity. Her features were hard, her direction clear, and even after facing off against Windham’s troops, she hadn’t felt actual concern for her wellbeing until that moment. Much like Deshanna, Elwen’s looks did not betray her age. Without much warning, the darker woman snatched up her jaw between her fingers to better inspect the apparent break in her lip and chin.

“It’s fine.” She replied as she tried to draw herself free, only for Elwen to tighten her hold. 

“Stubborn, halla headed-” The elder muttered.

“You’re welcome for the help.” Ivuni bit off.

“And there’s that flare of pride.” Elwen snapped back, her focus moving over Ivuni’s shoulder. 

“Here.” Solas’s voice interjected. “Please, allow me.” He moved to stand beside them and took her face out of Elwen’s grip. Warmth preceded the tingling sensation of his reparation magic, but she kept her focus on Elwen and the disapproval firmly rooted in her eyes. 

“So you do have at least one Mage in your number capable of properly executing a spell.” The elven woman nagged and she glanced at Solas only to watch his brows lift, though he kept his tongue behind his teeth. “I had wondered, given the display beyond the gates.”

“I might take offense to that.” Dorian complained form just beyond their small circle. 

“No one asked you, Tevinter.” Elwen spat.

“I wasn’t implying that you hade made it a question.” Dorian frowned.

“And I did not require your commentary on the matter of fact that was divulged.” The woman hissed.

It was a struggle to not lift her hands and press them against her ears to block them out. She wanted to somehow signal to Dorian to desist while he was somewhat ahead before he dug himself any deeper as Elwen would not yield until she had verbally buried him. “Well,” she ventured, a brighter than necessary smile on her face as the split in her lip sealed beneath the magic focused there, “Good Winter Solstice, everyone.”


	19. Chapter 19

It was strange to be indoors. Better, it was strange to be indoors with members of her clan behind the very walls that she stood within. It had been different when they had taken Loranil into their number. As Dalish as he was, possibly more so stereotypically than herself or her own, she did not know him well enough to know his comfort levels or preferences. Though, she had gradually learned them, smiled as he unfurled a bedroll in the courtyard amongst some of the other tents that housed soldiers, surgeons, and merchants alike. He had commented on appreciating the sky overhead as his only ceiling. 

So very Dalish.

“How long are you planning to stay?” Deshanna asked as she pushed a warm mug of tea into her waiting hands, then turned around the end of the short, thick rectangular table that possessed a stack of tomes and a few rolled scrolls that smelled of pine smoke. 

The familiar scent, the herbs, the honey, the warmth against her palm, it threatened to lull her right there on her feet. “Do you wish me to leave?” She lifted her chin and looked up to watch the other woman smile at her, a question dancing in the depth of her kind amber eyes, and then noted Elwen behind her rolling her own, irritated.

“You should not be here at all.” Elwen insisted. “The neighboring cities will descend on this one just as that shemlen Windham did.”

“He did so in the absence of a power able to fully withstand his assault.” Ivuni replied and considered setting the mug down on the table between them to keep from spilling its contents if Elwen wished to press the matter and will to argue. “No other Marcher noble will dare to cross the threshold of this city while the Inquisition holds ground here.”

“So Wycome has done away with Antoine and the Venatori, only to have power seized by your Inquisition?” Elwen pressed as she leaned forward and set her elbows on the tabletop, then tented her fingers together. It wasn’t anger that looked back at her from the elder woman’s dark green eyes, though, it was seeking, inquiring, waiting to offer judgement upon the delivery of an answer.

Ivuni shook her head. “That is not why they are here.” She looked towards Deshanna then. “You reached out to them and myself. My advisors thought to handle the situation without directly involving me-”

“And yet you still ended up here.” Elwen cut in. 

“It was my choice to accompany them.”

“They should have insisted against such.”

“ _I_ am Inquisitor and it was _my_ choice to come here against their attempted recomnedations.”

“Then they have done an awful job of attempting to keep you safe.”

“Nothing about my life anymore is safe!” The tea sloshed over the rim of the cup as she set it down with more force than necessary. “I did not choose to become this. _You_ two decided to send me to the Conclave and this is the result of _your_ choices.”

“You agreed to go, Ivuni.” Elwen waved a hand dismissively. “The blame is not entirely ours.”

“I never would have left the clan if you hadn’t insisted it in the best interest _of_ the clan that I go!” 

“Enough.” Deshanna pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I will not be belittled for the actions and choices I have made in light of the situation that I have been reluctantly forced into.” She tugged the string glove from her left hand and the mark offered the room a subtle green glow. “I did not ask for this, I simply wanted to do something that could have stood to possibly benefit our people. And I am doing the best that I can with what I have been served. I am still a part of this clan and you are still my people.”

It was frustration that prompted Elwen to push her hands through her dark umber hair, a motion that she had watched the other woman perform countless times throughout the course of her life, a grounding measure. Elwen twisted her long locks back up towards the crown of her head and secured it with a pin, then stood and the chair she had occupied was pushed back by the motion of her rising. “Drink your tea.” Was her quiet instruction before she turned about and left the room, the door lingering open in her wake.

In the hall, a respectable distance away, stood Cassandra, Solas, Dorian, and Varric, as well as half a dozen other bodies both human and elven congregated together, each head turning once the doorway was shoved open. Gradually, however, thankfully, the quiet exchanges resumed in the hall, Varric’s deeper set voice seeming to bleed over every other one present even if she could not precisely make out his words without focusing properly.

“I don’t understand what she wants from me.” Ivuni sighed as she eyed her tea.

“All she’s ever wanted for is your safety and wellbeing.” Deshanna replied, her tone calm and her words well selected to convey the meaning she wished to instill. 

“She acts as though she would prefer me kept in a pretty cage.”

Deshanna inclined her head in half concession. “I cannot argue that she wouldn’t prefer such.” Amusement in her voice, then she sat in the chair the other woman had vacated. “She has seen and lost much in her life, da’len, she would prefer the little she still cares for to be well kept.” She was looking up at her when Ivuni finally sought to seek her gaze. “We did ask this of you.”

Ivuni bit her lip to keep from offering further retort. It was sitting at the tip of her tongue wanting to push free, yet it was childing, whining in nature when she considered the argument she wished to pose. She wanted to insist that it wasn’t fair, that Elwen was being irrational, when really, Elwen sought what was in her best interest., the mature part of her brain could acknowledge that fact. “Once it seems that the disruption here has been settled, we will leave Wycome in proper hands with a number of our people here for support and defense.”

Her Keeper’s hand reached across the table and wrapped around her own. The action brought her to pause, brought her to settle into the moment and block everything else about the world out. She could let herself succumb to the familiarity and the memories that Deshanna’s proximity offered, the other woman’s slightly lighter hand wrapped about hers, light freckles dotting the landscape of her arm all the way up towards her exposed shoulder. Her beautiful amber eyes were waiting for her once she reached them. She could recall a hundred moments curled up in those arms as a lullaby was hummed against her ear.

“I am proud of all that you have done.” Deshanna whispered. “You-”

“Ivi!” A high-pitched voice squealed from the doorway and she turned to note a little skinny elven girl with her mahogany hair drawn back in a multitude of braids woven close to her scalp until it flared out in a multitude of tight curls from the back of her skull, bright lapis eyes drawn wide. The smaller form huffed and puffed several breaths as she tried to right herself from tripping, her arms wrapped tight around a decent sized pot clutched white knuckle in her hands, the familiar form of a withered tickseed plant spread out like a dying spider.

A smile threatened to tug at her lips, only dying when she remembered her companions lingering in the hall still attempting to make conversations with their new allies. 

“Ivi you have to make this grow again!” The young girl exclaimed, a sharp breath hissing between her teeth as she attempted to readjust her hold on the pot. “It will not listen to me.”

When she noted half the hall’s occupants briefly glance towards her curiously, she quickly bridged the gap between her and the girl, a nervous chuckle rising up the back of her throat. “Inside, Misera.” She instructed as she reached for the door. 

“Why do we have to…are you shutting the door?” The girl pressed and frowned up at her. Without warning, the girl lifted her pot upward and the moment Ivuni’s hand hooked around the edge of the door she gave it an abrupt tug to obscure the view from the hall.

“‘Shanna.” 

“Come inside, Misera.” Deshanna shook her head as she rose and extended a hand for one of the smaller shoulders to beckon the girl into the room.

“But my flowers are-” Misera tried to argue until Deshanna shushed her.

With the younger drawn into the room, Ivuni left it behind and pushed the door shut without pausing to note if it latched. She didn’t offer her companions much beyond a glance and a quick smile as she moved by them and took the stairs down to the main level of the smaller chantry building near the alienage that her clan had somewhat set up temporarily within. 

She was aware of footsteps somewhere behind her, though she did not offer any pursuer any amount of time to catch her up. Her bare feet took her straight through the building’s main worship hall and out the double doors to the small well-kept courtyard. A garden. Of course it was, and she searched for an exit. The sound of feathers fluttering, or ruffling, brought her momentarily to pause and she glanced up into a nearby peach tree to note a perched raven, likely waiting to be utilized in sending a correspondence of some worth. When it turned its head in response to her presence, she noted its single blue eye; just like the raven from near Redcliffe.

Curiosity seizing her, she carefully moved towards the small bench at the base of the tree, her eyes still fixed on the bird, and sat down, all thoughts of leaving the grounds temporarily suspended. It took little coercion or much waiting for the raven to swoop down from its branch to settle on the bench back. It tilted its head, almost regarding her with its single eye, as it paced a few steps away from her, and then a few steps towards her. It ducked its head and crooned quietly. When she sat quietly and unmoving, unsure what it wanted, it repeated the sound.

Ivuni pursed her lips and then hesitantly lifted her right hand up from her side. Giving it plenty of time to backpedal or take back to its higher place up within the safer confines of the tree, she reached towards it until the middle knuckle of her index finger grazed the soft plumage of its chest. Once more, it crooned, what she assumed was approvingly, then it bowed its head once more and curled it under her finger as though seeking further contact. She gave it, curved three fingers around the top of its head and the scratched gently along the back of its neck.

Her interactions with birds were few as most did not seek her company, unlike warm blooded flightless creatures who often sought her out to slate some odd curiosity when she stalked through their part of the woods, or wanted a free snack. She’d say that birds found little interest in her, but rather they seemed to scatter in response to her presence. Either she exuded some undetectable smell that drove them away, or they had pursuits of more import to seek. 

“Secret admirer?” Dorian asked, a smirk stole across his face as he moved towards them and seated himself on the other end of the bench.

She half expected the raven to startle and take to the tree, yet it lingered, not even the slightest of startles shaking it in response to a new person breaking into its proximity. “Looks that way.” Ivuni smiled, curling her fingers around the side of its neck back towards the slick feathers of its chest.

“Got itself into a few scuffles.” The Mage remarked, lifting a finger towards the bird without making contact, his direction meant to indicate the missing eye. When he reached closer, the raven turned and snapped its beak in warning, drawing a frown to Dorian’s face and a bubble of laughter from Ivuni’s lips.

“She didn’t want to do it.” Cole’s spoke, his left hand wrapped around the thin trunk of the young tree. 

“Ah,” Dorian’s smirk returned, and he curled his fingers in against his palm. “Some jilted lady bird.”

“Mother.” Cole corrected.

“Alright, now it’s weird.” Dorian frowned. 

“Put the abyss where it did not belong.” Cole took a single step forward and the raven ruffled its feathers either in warning or preparation to take flight. “Turned everything black.”

The raven squawked and then spread its wings. With a few flaps it was airborne and then proceeded to climb with little effort. Rather than roosting back up high in the tree, it crossed the length of the little courtyard towards the overhang of the little chantry’s roof, joining another pair that barely shifted to accommodate its joining their number.

“You two chased away my friend.” Ivuni feigned a pout.

“Such a beautiful creature.” Dorian teased.

“Curiosity.” Cole spoke, no longer by the tree, but at near the doorway back near the building. Cole turned slightly back towards them. “Dorian, am I handsome?”

Dorian’s brows shot upward and Ivuni drew her lips between her teeth. “Are you what?” The Mage asked, somewhat taken aback.

“You say you’re handsome all the time. Am I?” Then he turned further to look at them over his shoulder, the wide brim of his hat shading much of his face. “I can’t tell.”

Dorian inhaled and briefly glanced at the pinkened sky, weighing his response. “You’re all right.” He decided with a warm smile. “Might want to rethink the hats.”

Cole stood, a single stalk of lavender in his hand. “But I like my hats.” He insisted.

“I know you do.” Dorian chuckled, and then Cole was gone. “Somewhat unnerving when he does that, though it is a useful skill, I will give him that much.”

“Popping in on the kitchen staff unannounced…” she lifted her shoulders, “I’m surprised Skyhold still has kitchen staff.”

They both sighed and fell into comfortable quiet as the magenta hue gradually slipped from the sky in favor of blues that would inevitably give way to near black. It was the deepest of blues when the moon shone, and the stars glittered bright. So much like-

“Your family is very…kind.” Dorian slipped the silence. When she looked at him, he was looking down at his hands upturned on his lap. “They have treated every member of the Inquisition with respect. I was…surprised.”

“People are people.” She replied. “Humans are humans, elves are elves, dwarves are dwarves, and qunari are…qunari. People.” 

“That doesn’t explain why they would extend me any measure of decency.”

“Humans are human.” She repeated herself and when he frowned once more, she shifted herself to face him. “My clan tries to see each individual is defined by their own actions, not the people that they come from, though I will not lie and say there are not…some reserves.” Even her own. When he looked back at his hands, she slid across the bench to put herself beside him. “You have done with these these what you will, not what your countrymen have defined you do with them.” She set her right hand against his left and loosely braided their fingers together. 

“Why are you such a strange Dalish elf?” 

She frowned at him. “I might be offended by such a comment.” A hint of mirth in her voice.

He smiled once more. “Doubtful.” He nudged her shoulder. “Your clan is…different.” 

“Another Mage called it unique.”

He tipped his head once, and then twice. “Perhaps that is a better description.” 

“Not so savage, then?”

“I cannot give an honest opinion on that just yet.” He smirked. “You do so enjoy sleeping on the ground with little else to keep you but the stars overhead.”

Ivuni balked at the notion that such was savage, even though with so much time amongst humans since the mark split her hand she could grasp at the perception. “Does that really make me wild?” Glittering lights above to keep the ghosts in the dark at bay, music in the air, she smiled when she thought of the balcony at the palace in Halamshiral. The gentle melody as she slid her hand into an offered one, her cheek against Solas’s chest as he carefully turned her about.

“I suppose one could venture to deem it ‘romantic’.” He said. When she turned her focus away from him, she found Solas and Cassandra standing where Cole had once been near the doorway. “She wants to know if you feel the city is well enough secured for us to make an exit back to Skyhold. Apparently Morrigan has some pressing issue to discuss with you.” He folded his hands together on his lap. “His want is a little more curious, something about the girl and the plant she carried.”

 

“My Lady!” Mirana called from the upper landing to the keep, her steps brought her halfway down the staircase to meet them and she immediately seized Ivuni’s hand, offering little verbal warning before she turned and tugged her back up the steps and towards the double doors.

“Is something wrong?” She managed as she nearly stumbled to keep up with the woman’s longer legs and stride. She barely had enough time to offer Varric a glance before she was tugged away from him and towards the sequential pair of doors that put them out in the garden.

Her breath seized in her throat, cut off by a sudden clamping shut as Mirana tugged her down the few steps and into the courtyard proper. The bed they had planted roses in was overgrown with spindling canes, pinkened thorns, deep green bladed leaves. Heavy ivory and pale-yellow blossoms the size of tea saucers sat upright and bright, waxy petals reaching towards the sunset stained sky. In the opposite corner, elfroot grew in a thick swath of spiral vines, lush leaves, and the smallest of amethyst blossoms nestled near roots. The scent of lavender was all but consuming, an undercurrent of lilac present but nearly overwhelmed. 

“Inquisitor.” A somewhat nasal voice greeted her and she turned to find Morrigan’s golden eyes looking her over, a smile that didn’t quite reach them. “They did not tell me that you were such an accomplished gardener.”

Ivuni shook her head. “I’m not a-”

A black form fell down from an upper roof and glided towards the top knob of the gazebo. A turn of its head and the fading sunlight caught its single dark eye. 

“Your advisors have informed you that Corypheus’ agents are sacking elven ruins, have they not?” Morrigan attempted to queue her attention. “As of yet, even Leliana claims she is unsure as to why, however, I have a theory about what he now seeks.” 

Ivuni shook herself and pulled her focus away from the raven as it had turned its head in against its feathers. It had been in Wycome when they had left, and yet had managed to keep pace with their trek back across the sea, across the Stormcoast, across ruins, plains, through Ferelden. Now it sat quietly atop the gazebo overlooking the garden of Skyhold just as she had been ushered into it. She rolled her fingers in against her palms, fisting them briefly to ground herself once more. “I’m listening.”

“Corypheus has turned his attention towards the Arbor Wilds, a grand expanse of land that is quite literally, for lack of a better word, _wild_. Wild with magic, secrets…” She folded her hands behind herself and tilted her head slightly. “What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten woods is as ancient as it is dangerous.”

She turned fully towards the Witch to give her her full attention. “Which is?”

“’Tis best…if I show you.” Morrigan did not give much indication of her actions, she simply turned from the terrace and made her way across the garden.

Ivuni looked once more for Mirana who had skirted away somewhat, politely, and she offered the young woman a warm smile. Then she looked at the rose blossom nearest her and reached a finger out to trace a single ivory petal. “They are beautiful.” She told her quietly. 

“I did nothing, My Lady.” Mirana insisted under her breath as she side stepped closer to her. “Mister Dorian was here when you planted them, and Mister Solas…was sort of present as well.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps this is their handiwork.”

“Why would you think that?”

“This,” Mirana caressed the round bottom of one of the neighboring ivory roses, “this is the result of magic, not just skilled and patient hands. Yes, I am a Mage, but my magic is not…this.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are few Mages who possess the ability to help things grow.” Mirana looked at the flower once more. “Likely fewer that can accomplish…this. They both spend hours with their noses in books studying and honing their craft.”

“That is true.” Ivuni agreed with a small smile. “I will have to inquire with them each on separate measure to find which is capable of manipulation to this degree.”

Mirana looked back at her and offered a few nods and a smile of her own, seemingly appeased and Ivuni turned to carry after Morrigan once more who stood near a closed doorway that likely led to one of the garden’s offshoot halls. “I would like to learn…if they will teach me.”

She paused and turned back towards gardener and studied her for a moment, finding complete and utter sincerity in the eyes staring back at her. Coupled with curiosity, will, and an inquisitive air, she likened it to the wide eyed expectant look of a child waiting to know more beyond the end of a story. “Of course.” Then she excused herself from Mirana’s company and turned once more back towards the other woman waiting for her.

There was no real measure of trust that she held for the woman sent with her by the Empress of Orlais, even if Leliana spoke easily of her enough. That Morrigan had stood with the Hero of Ferelden carried at least some worth and value, though that did not necessarily warrant a full shift of her faith. She seemed to possess magical knowledge in spades, yet kept her hand close to her chest, only revealing a card here and there when it in some manner suited and benefited her. Vivienne had cautioned taking Morrigan beyond face value, and Ivuni still teetered back and forth in her desire to give the Madame her full appreciation. A small part of her wondered if it was -jealousy was not the right ford for a woman like Vivienne.

Still, if Morrigan could prove useful in some regard…

She watched her push open one of the heavy doors and it barely groaned in response to being moved, its hinges recently well oiled. A warm glow emanated from the other end of the room giving light to the narrow walls and…Ivuni paused as she took in the shape that loomed ahead of them. It wasn’t light from within that illuminated their surroundings, but rather light from outside reflected off a smooth polished glass surface. She squinted, her brows pinching, as she analyzed the looming item and prompted herself to move forward to catch and keep pace with Morrigan who gestured towards the imposing mirror. 

“This is an eluvian.” Morrigan explained. “An elven artifact. From a time long before their empire was lost to human greed. I’ve restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds. That is what Corypheus seeks.”

“It’s…beautiful…in its way.”

“I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbor Wilds, untouched.” Morrigan continued, reaching out to set a finger against the mirror’s frame. “It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find my prize.” Then she drew her hand back. “If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The eluvian would be his.”

“What does it do, exactly?”

A sideways smile tugged at the right corner of Morrigan’s lips as she moved to stand before the mirror. The hairs on the back of Ivuni’s neck stood on end as Morrigan lifted both her hands towards the eluvian and it rippled to life, magic snapping and arcing away from the surface. The mark in her palm throbbed in beat with her pulse and she tucked the afflicted hand away at the small of her back.

“A more appropriate question would be ‘where does it lead?’”


	20. Chapter 20

There was an invisible force that seemed to take control of the massive doors the moment the ends were within reach of one another, dragging them further together until they seemed to fuse upon meeting, a bright current of magic welling up the center and outward. It was warm and vibrated against her skin before she withdrew back half a step. Ivuni lifted a hand to touch her chin as a thread of power wafted out to caress her cheek. Her eyes trailed up along the sealed center joint and watched the magic ebb, the mark in her hand flared quietly in response.

Morrigan’s voice was moving away from her, but she kept her eyes on the closed doors, briefly tracing the intricately set mosaic tiles. It looked as though it were meant to depict something, but she couldn’t quite decide what. It was somewhat reminiscent of a shield, yet the tiles seemed to form a pattern that spread out from the center as well like a dress, or a cloak, a crown or something similar near the top. She continued to puzzle out the look as she half turned to follow the rest of the party further into the temple to find Solas patiently waiting for her.

“That door is...” she hesitated looking back at it over her shoulder, “and very…” her voice trailed off, her mind struggling to find the word. It was grand, lovely, magical, and intact. And the magic felt somehow alive. Something about the temple felt alive, which was odd considering it apparent age and state. When she looked up at him again, realizing she had paused in her progression towards him, she found that she had only made it about halfway. She smirked when she thought that the ‘crown’ near the upper portion of the door resembled a flower, and then her thoughts led her to a rose which possibly shaped itself in the stars. She compelled herself to move towards him with a quicker kick to her step, they were meant to be searching.

They fell in step together and she stretched her fingers outward, hooking her main finger with his smallest, and she smiled again when she noted him in her periphery glancing down at the point of contact. A crooked smile tugged up one side of his mouth as he flexed his wrist and more securely laced their fingers together, then lifted them up to press a kiss against the back of her hand. She had never pushed him into outright displays of affection, but any measure still churned something warm to life in her chest when he offered.

“There are elves here, there…” She shook her head as she tried to make sense of it. Elves within the confines of a forgotten temple in the middle of wild woods. “How is something like this standing, seemingly so untouched, and no one knows about it?” She wondered as she looked upward and then around them, struggling to visually catalogue every inch that she could take in. She had never heard Deshanna reference a hidden or abandoned temple in the Arbor Wilds, nor was it part of any traded story ever offered up at an Arlathvhen. 

His grip on her hand tightened. “I believe there are many ancient marvels in this world that are still hidden, even from those who may know where to look.”

“At last, Mythal’s sanctum.” Morrigan declared. “Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes.”

“If he’s here for a mirror,” Bull cut in, “why Corypheus say he wants a ‘well of sorrows’?” 

Morrigan hesitated, drawing her gaze from meeting any in the group. “I am uncertain of what he referred to.” Guilt laden in the eyes she tried to cast away from them.

“You’re not certain?” Ivuni untangled her hand and stepped away from Solas, then around Bull to put herself in front of the Witch. “You said you knew what he was looking for.”

“Confidence can carry one only so far, it seems.” Solas commented, his distaste for Morrigan’s presence still ever present. 

“I _suspected_ ,” Morrigan clarified, “I did not _know_.”

“How conveniently worded.” Ivuni crossed her arms.

“Yes, I was wrong.” Morrigan confessed, throwing her hands up at her sides. “Does that please you? Whatever the well of sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

She swallowed back her rising ire and took half a step closer to the woman before her. “Let’s find this well before Corypheus’s people do.” Then she turned and moved further into the temple.

It was beautiful, even in its semi-fractured state, perhaps even more so because of it. Vines spiraled around columns and hung from broken overhangs, thick trellises of moon flowers webbed out in every shadowed corner, sunlight glinted off gold and bronze flecks littered through rubble and scattered up across wall giving half-life to mosaics they once depicted. A clutch of morning glory along the path unfurled in delicate blue and burgundy petals, vibrant in splintered streams of light.

“Neat trick.” Bull rumbled from somewhere behind her.

“And yet it’s already well passed midday.” Dorian noted.

“Maybe elfy flowers don’t follow the clock.” Sera suggested.

Ivuni frowned slightly but kept her pace. “We’ve already seen there is magic in this place.”

They entered another shadowy stretch of what was once possibly a hall that promised another open area ahead, light aplenty, and she hastened her pace somewhat to draw them more quickly forward. It was not disappointing when the path brought them to an area overlooking a courtyard. Before them a dais of scrollwork carved into iron cut into perfect squares. An expansive stairwell to the further ahead split partway upward and curled around towards upper landings and she could make out part of another door that depicted the shield dress design.

“I’ll have a look at the door.” Sera decided without conferring anyone else’s opinion. She simply stepped away from the group, her bow in hand and her steps quiet. It was always fascinating to watch her move when she broke away from the group. Her steps were all but silent, even in her tiny leather shoes. She scaled walls and balconies with ease, swinging herself wherever she desired to be as though her motions were just as natural as walking. If she had been born to a Dalish clan, Sera would have been an amazing hunter, one that would have been coveted and longed after. She could have had anything that she wanted.

“What is that?” Bull gestured towards the raised terrace.

“I am…not sure.” Morrigan replied, her curiosity baited, she stepped away from them.

Ivuni moved after her, pressing her teeth together to keep from asking if there was anything Morrigan was in fact sure about. The rest of their smaller party synchronized with her pace and followed down towards the waiting tiles. She moved beyond the Witch and up the three short steps until her feet touching one of the intricately carved squares seemed to bring it to life. Every crevice came to life, light illuminating through the scrolling pattern, and a note hummed suspended in the air. 

“It appears the temples magics are still strong.” Morrigan noted.

Ivuni took another step forward get a better look at one of the pair of pillars that rose up between all the quiet tiles. Vines of ivy and delicate meandering burgundy clematis obscured somewhat familiar written forms. “Ancient elven, I can’t make out much.” Another step forward. “Atish’all…”

“Atish’all vir abelasan” Solas spoke from just behind her and she looked back at him, noting his feet still on the steps rather than moving to stand beside her. “It means enter the path of the well of sorrows.”

“There is something about knowledge,” Morrigan gestured further, “respectful or pure, shiven…shiven’nen…” Morrigan toyed with the word in her mouth. “’Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the well is a good omen.”

“We’re out of luck, unless one of those temple elves drops a lexicon.” Ivuni sighed.

“Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry.” Morrigan ventured encouragingly.

“What are you doing now?” Sera asked, hesitant disapproval in her tone as she moved to stand just shy of the little steps. “The big door is locked.” She gestured over her shoulder from the direction she had returned from. “Won’t budge even a smidge but what are you doing?” Her words ran together. 

“Maybe…” Ivuni drew her lip between her teeth and then stepped onto the neighboring square. Much like the first, it hummed to life and light lifted from every curling spiraled line, a new note breathed up and around her. When she stepped back towards the first, the notes fell flat and the light and magic extinguished. 

“Not right.” Sera pointed out. “The Veil is disapproving.”

She swallowed and stepped back onto the first square to illuminate it once more, then she stepped onto the next dormant tile and the light returned and the first note sounded. Her feet took her back to the second square and then she moved on to the next to bring it to life, a new note sounding approvingly. She followed it around until she was brought back towards the beginning and the last tile hummed to life and a sound akin to a bolt sliding in or out of place groaned from up the stairs towards the barred doorway, and the pair of doors glowed blue, green, and gold.

“I don’t like this ritual thing, but that…it’s somewhat like a lullaby.” Sera tilted her head slightly as though she were trying to re-piece each note together once more.

“What is?” Dorian asked.

“The music that the squares play.” Sera drew her hand in the air as though she were conducting an invisible orchestra. “I think I’ve heard it before.”

Dorian stared at her incredulously, one brow arched, confusion and curiosity vying for dominance in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The sound the tiles make when Glowbug steps on them.” Sera explained further, puzzlement plain as day on her face. “I know it from somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Dorian glanced towards Bull who frowned in similar fashion. “What sound?” The Qunari enunciated each word clearly as though it would convey the shared confusion for better understanding. 

“Not trying to not hear it purposely.” Cole appeared to her right. “Music for ears that made it, singing soft like a secret meant to be traded in the dark.”

“Great.” Dorian offered one of his beautifully sarcastic smiles. “One point extra to the elves. Sera? How does it feel to be one of the _elfy_ members of the group?”

Sera stuck her tongue out and crossed her arms. 

“Perhaps your outfit is too loud, Dorian.” Solas commented without missing a beat.

 

The temple proved a trying place to be. When they had finally stopped squabbling and moved on, further puzzles waited to be solved. Further lights, further music that only the elven members of the party seemed privy to while the humans rolled their eyes, and Bull insisted they hurry. She had made every effort to respect the temple dedicated to the goddess whose branches had been tattooed onto her cheeks in her youth, yet Bull’s pressing insistence to consider the Inquisition soldiers fighting back Corypheus’s horde had had her stumble through the final puzzle, breaking half way as she miss-stepped and reset the board. 

With a huff, she had returned to the beginning and started once more, setting the tiles alight, the approving notes humming suspended in the air until she once more returned to the halfway point and nearly blundered again. She had rolled her hands into fists and crouched down on the glowing square. 

“You are doing fine, vhenan.” Solas spoke from just behind her, his form just outside the low wall that separated the puzzle from the rest of that part of the temple. “You’re almost done.”

Ivuni swallowed and with a nod of agreement taken from his encouragement, she rose back to her feet and refocused herself. She took careful measure of the remainder of the puzzle and stepped cautiously. Morrigan’s insistence that they complete the petitioner’s path, the desire for the well thick in her voice, still echoed in her head. The Witch had done little to garner her trust and being manipulated into her bidding, only soured her opinion of her all the more. Still, regardless of what lay within the temple, whatever Morrigan sought to gain in that place, she had spoken true by indicating that Corypheus also desired what lay within and it needed to be kept from his reach. 

The last square lit up and the notes strung together once more, repeating in a soft chorus until another locking mechanism disengaged and the temple was finally opened to them. 

Stepping down off the puzzle dais, she took the initiative and led their group through the open doorway, her eyes sliding upward to mentally note the same design as the last; the spread dress, or wings, or cloak crowned at the top. It wasn’t just meant to be an interesting design or simple aesthetic, it was created purposely to depict something. She just couldn’t manage to piece together exactly what that something happened to be. Due to the constraint of their timing and situation, she had little in the way to stand and stare, to ponder it much, just as she had been forced to abandon the mosaics depicting Andruil, Falon’Din, and June. A buried fear that she kept deep and quiet was that once they left this temple, they may never have the chance to return, and any further exploration of what lingered would be lost.

The next room was open, the walls far on either side decorated with gold and sapphire mosaics, the ceiling greatly vaulted overhead. Directly before them was a raised platform, or stage, a pair of gracefully curved stone stairways leading up from the floor level that they occupied to meet it. 

“’Tis not what I expected.” Morrigan mused from beside her. “What was this chamber used for?” 

The lifted area ahead towered over them and she felt oddly small before it, but perhaps that was the point of it. She imagined the Inquisition throne that she was coerced into taking, sitting above those that were brought before her for… “…judgement.” Ivuni murmured. The fine hairs at the back of her neck stood on end and a weight settled against the back of her skull. “We’re being watched.”

A figure drew her attention upward once more. “Venavis.” A deep flat voice gave a simple order. There was little in the way of command to his tone, as though he expected no quarrel. He stood above them, high up on the raised platform staring down the length of his nose, his eyes narrowed at her, his brows pinched. He turned ever so slightly as though he thought to draw his focus from her and align it with one of her companions, then seemed to catch himself drawn in to study her further. “You…are unlike the other invaders. You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen.” Then he made a sweeping gesture in a downward arc towards her left side. “You bear the mark of magic which is…familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

Slumber? “They are my enemies, as well as yours.” Ivuni replied without waiting for anyone else in the group to speak. The magic was locked within her palm, humming and throbbing as though it knew it was being addressed, and she had been named Inquisitor. No one spoke before she did. Not anymore.

“I am called Abelas.” He gave them his name, but it was not an introduction, it was simply a giving of information; an introduction was meant to be somewhat cordial, and that was not what he was offering. Then he lifted his hand as though to gesture to himself when he explained further and she noted the green vallaslin that tied him to Mythal. “We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place, our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before you, you wish to drink from the Vir'Abelasan.”

“The Place of the Way of Sorrows.” Morrigan urged, quietly, and Ivuni offered her little more than a glance. “He speaks of the well.”

“It is not for you.” Abelas “It is not for _any_ of you.”

“So…you’re elves from ancient times? Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” It sounded odd when it actually left her mouth. 

“The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan.” Abelas countered, and she felt a void settle into her gut. “We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

_Our time was over._ As though it had ever been destined to be over. She felt her brows buckle at the thought, at the potential revelation that the being before her was drawing. All her life she had been taught that the Tevinter Imperium had destroyed her people and taken them as slaves, spoils of war. _Every_ elf was taught that, regardless of whether they were born in the woods or the slums of a city, every _hahren_ instilled that. Every story they traded, every scrap of the past that they thought to cling to did not portray their ancestors sundering themselves.

“We awaken only when called,” Abelas continued, “and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.”

She wanted to turn to glance at the sentinels that flanked them, to number them, to commit them to memory. Solas had earlier insisted that the elves there would likely not welcome company within again. She would never again have this opportunity. “What _is_ this Vir’Abelasan, exactly?” 

Abelas frowned once more, dropping his focus briefly towards the floor before her before his eye flickered back up to meet hers. She could barely make out the minute shift back and forth, but he was making it between her own eyes. “It is a path, one walked only by those who toiled in Mythal’s favor.”

“He speaks of priests, perhaps.” Morrigan guessed.

“More than that, you need not know.” Abelas shifted as though he were tired of the exchange.

“Our people have lost everything.” Ivuni “They need you, they could…learn from you.”

““Our” people?” Abelas scoffed at the notion and in that moment, she felt the world shudder around her. “The ones we see in the forests, shadows wearing vallaslin? _You are not my people._ And you have invaded our sanctum as readily as the shemlen.”

He thought of them as little more than the humans, of _her_ as little more than them. She was elven, Dalish, marked, but he saw her as nothing more than an invader upon that which he sought to maintain, sought to endure. “We knew this place was sacred.” She replied, holding her ground. “We’ve respected it as best we could.” She had spent her time at the puzzles unto completion, and were it not for the pressing nature of besting Corypheus to the Well, she could have spent hours appreciating every facet of the grounds she stood on and the walls that surrounded her, regardless of their crumbling state.

“….I believe you.” Abelas gave a nod. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed Rights of Petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart, and never return.”

Never return.

“This is our goal, is it not?” Solas reasoned and she turned slightly to look back at where he stood behind her. “There is no reason to fight these sentinels.”

“Consider carefully.” Morrigan interrupted and Ivuni frowned. “We must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.”

Ivuni shook her head and looked back towards Abelas. “I accept your offer.” 

He gave another nod, then gestured to his right. “You will be guided to those you seek. As for the Vir’Abelasan, it shall not be despoiled. Even if I must destroy it myself.” Then he turned back in towards the wherever it was he had come from within the temple.

“No!” Morrigan shouted and before she could move towards the Witch, Morrigan transformed herself into a hawk and gave chase.

When she took a step forward, a firm hand wrapped carefully about her upper arm. “Please, vhenan. I am sure that considering the millennia that these sentinels have stood guard, a human witch is little more than a trifle. You have agreed to continue to offer respect in this place, let us keep to it.”

“I’m in agreement, boss.” Bull added.

“Let her get plucked.” Sera set her hand on her hip. “Maybe that sentinel bloke can get her pretty head out of her ass.”

A female sentinel, standing where Abelas had gestured, spoke, elven thick on her tongue, a simple enough phrase insisting that they follow and Ivuni gave a single nod of her head. Solas’s hand slid from where he had gripped her to bring her to pause, down the length of her arm and his fingers briefly traced against her palm until the mark hummed and warmed her hand. His hand set against the small of her back and she drew in a deep breath as she set her feet to follow into the next chamber.

The sentinel offered Mythal’s blessing and Ivuni bit at her lip to keep the smart retort from leaping off her tongue. It was beneficial as Morrigan had taken to wing and threatened the shaky truce she had forged with the the…elvhen.

“She seeks to protect the Well of Sorrows.” Solas spoke from beside her, but it did little to chase the bitterness from her thoughts. 

Morrigan had made multiple comments in and out of the temple about how humans and mortals blundered through the world, destroying what they did not understand, and Ivuni believed there was _some_ part of the woman that truly possessed genuine desire to preserve the past and all the history the world still held. Yet she guarded her flicker of doubt that Morrigan’s actions were purely altruistic.

She followed the guide without complaint falling behind when mosaics depicting her gods drew her focus. She couldn’t help the moment she took to linger before the depiction of Mythal, she was the goddess that she had chosen to show reverence to when the time had come to be marked. The depiction was clear, the gold mosaic shards glinting in the torchlight, motherly to a fault, five smaller beings gathered in her arms, the People close to her heart.

Mythal the Protector.

 

It didn’t matter if she tried to rid herself of the blood on her shoulder, it littered her everywhere else. _Mythal was slain._ She shook herself. _The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder._ Ivuni cast her gaze out across the shallow body of water that could possibly make light of those words. Abelas’s parting thoughts, the final exchange of words made between him and their party lingered at the forefront of her mind, even as she considered the Well. It offered a great deal, knowledge that could be used to the benefit of her people, knowledge that she could share with them, it could change everything they knew about who they were, what had happened, who they could have been. It could…her consideration snapped, suddenly shifting without her back to the beginning, when she had first met Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. 

Solas.

He had said he had tried to share his knowledge with the Dalish and they had cast him out. The Dalish would have turned on someone trying to counter their way of life, their beliefs. They would have turned on someone who looked like them, spoke like them, but offered them ‘knowledge’ that broke who they were as people. She had never asked what he had tried to offer the people.

_“Your people yet linger.”_ Solas had said.

_“Elvhen such as you?”_ Abelas had asked.

_“Yes, such as I.”_

“If anyone is to use the well, it will be me.” She decided. 

“So you will take what little knowledge you can understand, and let the rest go to waste?” Morrigan all but sneered, her features contorting in both shock and anger.

“And who’s to say it will go to waste?” 

“I do.” Morrigan retorted.

“And your opinion is so much more important than anyone else’s.” Deshanna had raised her to respect people, regardless of their ears or height, but Morrigan was quickly trying her patience and fast approaching the lowest rung of her appreciation right along with Bianca.

“You have not had any training to-”

“I am elven!” She finally snapped. “I imagine what you have read in your books is very romantic, but until you have lived as I have, as _what I am_ , you do not and will not ever _know_.”

Morrigan took half a step back and folded her arms, regarding her with care, breaking visual contact first to cast her golden eyes out across the Well. “Perhaps it is better this way.” Such a simple concession. “Do as you will with the Well of Sorrows, Inquisitor. But be careful.”

“Vhenan, please do not do this.” Solas pleaded quietly from just to her right.

“What does it matter -one shadow in the woods, a remnant of what used to be bound to the will of Mythal- if it means saving this world?” Her brows pressed together, a cross somewhere between frustration and hurt. Frustration that she was put in this situation, forced to make yet one more decision with a line drawn in the sand, hurt that he hadn’t argued her or Abelas’s comment about being a shadow. “Better than it being taken by a human, and you refuse it yourself.”

His jaw clenched. There were a hundred things that he wanted to pour out to her, offer her, attempt to sway her away from this choice with. But her mind was set, it was a spinning mess, but this choice was made and the Well called to her, beckoning. She lifted her gaze from the side of his face back up to his waiting blue eyes and studied the unspoken maelstrom brewing within. 

Another choice she had been left at a crossroad to make.

Then she stepped away from them and down the first shallow step into the well. The water rippled and vibrated back around her. It hummed as she progressed, just as the puzzle pieces had sung with each step she took across their surface. At first, she thought the light curling around the ripples about her was from the anchor until the magic turned from green, to blue, then to violet, before it briefly flashed gold. 

She cupped the water in her hands and lifted it to her lips, let it slip between cool and crisp as though it had been chilled just for her. It bathed her tongue, and magic skittered about the insides of her cheeks, coiling down the back of her throat. It warmed its way down as she swallowed until it set in the center of her chest and snapped wildly. She gasped in response and pressed her eyes shut.

A tendril of magic danced across her shoulders, baiting her. When she opened her eyes, she stood within the pool of the Well, though the stone beneath her feet was dry and smoke puffed out around her form, trying to take shape as it seemed to slither briefly about her ankles before rising.

_“Garas Quenathra?”_ A slew of voices clamored together.

“Why am I here?” Ivuni asked.

Whispers pieced together fragments that she could only grasp at. They asked about her…meaning? for being there, seeking the aid of the Well.

“Corypheus…a Magister wishes to rip the Veil open. I must learn how to stop him.” She explained.

More whispers pressed her further, a warning in the varying tones.

“If you can help me vanquish Corypheus, take whatever price you wish.” She offered her life if that were the cost. The likelihood of her surviving Corypheus was questionable as it was already, and beyond that surviving the anchor if it didn’t burn its way through her. All that mattered in the grander scheme was preserving the world, preserving the life that deserved to exist, to flourish. 

_“Vir Mythal’enaste.”_

The warmth in her chest returned and rather than splitting like a bolt straight through her, it curled and coursed through every length of her veins, every artery, seeking to settle, seeking to claim. It seared across the surface of her skin the way she imagined a branding would feel and for a moment, her vision was nothing but bright inescapable light. 

It was Solas’s voice that drew her back, calling her by her human title rather than her name or anything else more familiar. She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her back to life, and his face was waiting for her when she opened her eyes once more. “How…do you feel?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to sit upward. “I’m…I’m all right.” At least she thought she was. Murmuring tipped about in the expanse of her mind, considerations that were not her own, but rather new voices, new opinions, new information.

Solas rose to his feet and she pushed herself forward onto her knees, pausing when the ground seemed to turn sideways. She pressed her eyes shut once more until the odd sensation passed, then she rose to her full height. 

“Oh my…” Dorian’s voice trailed off as he reached towards her, his fingers brushed across her hair. His hand slid from her temple towards her chin where it sought to turn her face slightly and he stepped around her to inspect her further.

“What are you doing?” She asked. “Is there something in my hair?”

“Common, please, darling.” Dorian requested. “Not all of us speak elven.”

“Well’s already gone to yer head.” Sera snorted. 

“What?” She breathed.

“There you are.” Sera smiled at her. 

“Uh…boss.” Bull had his back to them, fixated instead on the sight of an enraged Magister drawing on his power.

“The eluvian!” Morrigan shouted.

The warmth beneath her skin flared, much like the anchor in her hand, setting her aglow and the eluvian responded. The surface shimmered, reflecting the iridescent blue that enveloped her. “Through the mirror!” She ordered, moving towards it, lingering near the edge as each party member pushed through. 

Corypheus was rapidly gaining. Until the ‘water’ from the well coiled upward into a funnel and the form of a woman took shape. Then she stepped through the eluvian and listened to it shatter behind her.


	21. Chapter 21

Her fingers carded through the varying degrees of ivory that had stretched up from her scalp; some places it was as long as her little finger, and other places it was barely longer than the width of the same finger. Still, it was overly noticeable against the deep crimson hue of the rest of her hair, and no dye she had tried to concoct would cover it up. Dorian wondered if it was a reaction to the Well ‘bonding’ with her, a side effect of more magic being interwoven into her being. 

The Well. 

It was quieter. It had been a raging cacophony when they had left the temple, when they had put the Arbor Wilds far behind them by falling through the eluvian and ending up back at Skyhold. It had been a shrill and resounding torrent. And then the surface of the eluvian stilled and the voices quieted, settled into a quiet thrum, whispers that fell to the back of her thoughts, an occasional flare seeking her attention but often lost steam when she tried to focus in. Still, its presence, the magic humming in her veins, it offered her a different perspective of the world around her, painted everything in different shades. 

When she sought answers to the questions that Abelas left raw in his wake, now she simply knew. He had not been lying when he had told them about the elvhen tearing themselves apart. She felt it; the rage, the adrenaline of battle, the fear, the anguish, moments of peppered time brushing up against her consciousness. They were splinters, that was the best way that she could describe it if anyone posed the question to ask how it unfurled in her head. How it felt. How it worked. When she wondered about Mythal, there was a varied response, some quieter, whispers too afraid to rise in volume, then anger that roiled like the Waking Sea. 

Mythal had been murdered. The All-Mother, had been ripped free of her life, of her existence, and had been snuffed out. 

But by who?

There were no offered answers from the voices, just silence.

She had lived her entire life believing that Mythal had been locked away with the others by Fen’Harel. When she had been small and sat around campfires, that was always part of the evening stories, the Dalish constantly sharing their history through words, it was how it was done. Stories pieced together, held so protectively close, so afraid they would wither if they weren’t spoke. Yet…yet it had been wrong. Mythal was dead. She had not been pressed into a cage beyond her people’s reach. She had been snuffed out.

_The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder._

Fen’Harel, then, had been innocent of at least one accusation that the elves had thought to strangle him with. One thing. One travesty. Part of the story was wrong. One piece of the puzzle didn’t fit. But then, how many of the pieces _did_ fit, and how many had been forced together? How many other stories did her people share with each other that were misconstrued? 

The Well buffered gently against her thoughts, it wanted her to feel, but she pushed it aside. There had been a fear within the temple during her argument with Morrigan, that the Well would be able to control her. So far, she had managed to keep her thoughts her own, for the most part, regardless of the random moments she had unknowingly slipped into elven during a conversation. That was all the influence that seemed to plague her. But was that really wrong? It was what her tongue had been made to speak. 

Abelas had said they were not the same people. Shadows. He had said she bore resemblance to those who called themselves elvhen. 

That word, that identifier.

She closed her eyes and she could hear Solas clear as day addressing Abelas, reaching out to him. He had stood idly by, silently, as Abelas had cut through her, made her feel small, made her feel not herself. 

_Not sure if you belong in the skin that you wear, though it seems it’s yours, it’s sometimes not._

She was sure that was not what Cole had implied in Crestwood as it had been during a discussion about clan and family, yet it seemed to fit with the current state of her mind. Though she really was never completely sure when and where Cole was making reference to when he spoke. 

When she opened her eyes again, her reflection stared back up at her from the pool she stood over, the roots of her hair still shock white. It was another marker, of sorts, setting her further apart from everyone else. First the green crackling power that snapped to life whenever it so desired from her left hand. Now…she pushed her fingers against her scalp and separated sections between them, wondering if the white would continue to progress, or it was a temporary disruption that would soon revert back to the deep dark shade of red that her hair had been since the beginning. Corypheus had told her the anchor was permanent, perhaps that was simply a quirk of old elven magic to remain perpetually bonded. If her hair grew pale the rest of her life, it would set her even further apart from her clan.

The only person that could stand to answer or quell her questions had trouble looking at her without disappointment brimming hesitantly in his eyes. She didn’t want to see it staring back at her. He had been angry upon their return to Skyhold, berated her for taking of the Well and not heeding his request for her to turn away from it. But there had been no one else save Morrigan. And even Solas hadn’t wanted Morrigan to have it. Every time she thought of the anger in his voice, though, hers rose up to meet it at the back of her thoughts. 

_Elvhen such as you?_

She was not some naïve human to have not noted the weight behind such a transition in identification. No one else had noticed it. For all her arrogance, not even Morrigan had brought it to light. Abelas had very clearly made it known that she was not his people. That her kind were shadows in the woods. And then…and then…

_Yes, such as I._

If she let her thoughts go there and toy with such an idea…

Ivuni pressed her hands against her face. 

How had she gotten there? She stood silently in the damp dark of an ancient forgotten thaig, a grab bag of companions near a fire in conversation with dwarven warriors, and her mind was a struggling mess. Part of her longed for the first day, or even the twelfth day. She missed the night that Varric had asked how she was holding up, when she had needed to mentally list the names of her allies along with their traits in order to remember who they were. When everyone was still new and foreign to her. Now they all meant something, varying degrees of something. 

It seemed the longer this progressed, the more days and weeks that flew by her while wrapped up in the Inquisition, she gave more of herself, or more was taken; her hand, her will, her freedom, her looks, her faith, …her heart. She wondered what would be left of her when this was over if she lived. Would she be forced to continue carrying the mantle set on her shoulders? Would she be allowed to go home and disappear back into the wilds of Thedas? Or would she be like Valta, turned out and cast out by the people she was presently allied with? Would it matter? 

“You shouldn’t think that way.” Cole’s gentle voice shook her and she straightened. 

“I was just wondering…” she swallowed and wrapped her hands about her upper arms.

“They would not be better if you fell at the end of this.” He said.

She felt her brow pucker, always unsure of her appreciation for Cole’s gifts. At times, the spirit offered the greatest measure of comfort that any single living thing could, and at others, he seemed to draw pain out akin to drawing thread through the eye of a needle. “Cole, I-”

“They would miss you.” He assured her. “He would miss you.”

He. Of course, he. She circled herself back to him, always now. Even when the thought of him and home didn’t align right. He would never be Dalish. He would never go there with her. Her fear was that she couldn’t bear to be without him, and she wasn’t sure where that would put her in the world. 

“Half blue should be gold when the magic goes.” Cole spoke again, then he turned but didn’t step away from her, instead he seemed to peer towards the lift that would take them down further into the underground. “Bells of an old song.” He continued. “Ringing and calling, always watching the quiet. Like him. He called himself Sorrow.”

Abelas.

Ivuni turned to take in Cole’s taller, leaner form, and followed his gaze towards the lift. Valta had said they would move on when she felt they were ready, once everyone had taken a moment to breathe. She hadn’t slept in nearly two days and the thought of crawling into one of the waiting rolls, only to stare at the looming walls kept her from seeking out what she knew she needed. If she closed her eyes for too long, she was afraid she would be back in the temple, and with Solas still seemingly angry with her, she refused to reach for him, and so did not want to broach the idea of sleep. She could just stay awake indefinitely, surely. She noted Cole shift in her periphery. 

“He keeps his pain against him like a shield.” He whispered. _“Vhenan.”_ The word rolled off his tongue beautifully, so different from the shape any Dalish or City elf would give it. 

Ivuni blinked slowly at that thought. She wanted to rest, just for a short while, wrapped up tight and warm in a pair of warms willing to keep her. She shook her head. She didn’t need to be held to sleep, she had managed for as long as she could remember. That was still al lie, especially when she thought of falling asleep against Deshanna’s lap, fingers in her hair.

“It is quiet enough and you only need to ask.” Cole urged and she pressed her lips together, then gave a nod of agreement. 

She moved back towards the fire and she felt the compassionate spirit move without taking any steps, because then he was beside Bull ahead of her. It was strange, that there were no tents to turn in to, no flimsy buildings to hide herself behind. It was strange that she felt so at odds with the notion of feeling out of place without something around and over her while she slept. That was not right. She had spent much of her life sleeping out beneath the sky. Then she glanced upward at the stone that looed high overhead and silently wondered if on a subconscious level that was what made her want to seek the familiarity of a tent. 

Taking stock of those still awake, it was not surprising to find little more than Bull, Cole, Valta, and Solas still up. Varric was cocooned into a roll, for the moment not grumbling about being away from the sky. Dorian lay somewhat beside him on his side, his face peaceful to better promote proper ‘beauty sleep’. And next to him was Sera sprawled out with barely a corner of her blanket draped across her waist. 

There was no Renn. Not since near the beginning. Not since those strange…dwarves.

“Boss?” Bull’s deep voice shook her thought and she startled enough to look up at him, offering him a tired smile. “Done playing with your hair?”

She couldn’t help but smirk in response as she dropped her gaze towards her toes. “I think so, for now.”

“I’m surprised the Vint wasn’t over braiding flowers into it.” He huffed and rolled his eyes. “He’s still dying to see you frolic.” He chuckled, then shook his head. “Get some sleep.”

“I think I could-” She started to argue until all joking fell from his face and he fixed her with a hard one-eyed stare. “Yes, definitely.” She gave in and moved across the campsite until she came to the bedroll next to Solas. She didn’t look at him immediately as she unhooked her belts and let them settle quietly next to the pack she had discarded earlier. Her fingers went to her scarf next and she chanced a glance at him, to find him watching her, his eyes on her hands as she unwound the item from about her throat. Then she busied herself with the toggles of the new jacket Harrit had made for her, he had insisted the damp of the Deep Roads would influence the fine mail she was used to wearing and had instead replaced it with soft fitted snoufleur skin. She felt lighter without the metal links, but…odd.

With a careful breath inward, she half circled the roll and turned back the flap before she knelt down into the opening, arranged herself and stretched her legs out beneath the warm furs. She turned towards Solas without looking at him and mustered herself. His tone from Skyhold still harsh in her thoughts, she fought back the look on his face when she had offered her apparent naivete over what it meant to have given herself into the service of an elven god. It was like being back at the circle market when she had selected her new knife with Bull and Solas barely acknowledged her presence. 

Ivuni frowned, silently chastising herself letting him possess such sway over her, then she lifted her gaze up to meet him and felt her anger ebb. His soft blue eyes stared back at her without malice or the disappointment she had been sure she would see waiting for her. Instead, she took note of the darker half moons beneath his lower lids and the exhaustion in his features. He set his book down at his side and Ivuni eased herself onto her back and the waiting pillow. 

Fingers brushed against her jaw and she sighed at the contact. The hand slipped along the column of her neck towards her opposite shoulder and then gave a light tug. They seemed to shift in synch with each other, her onto her side and back and him forward to envelope her. His fingers trailed across her collarbone then down towards her hip before sliding possessively around her waist. 

“Sleep, vhenan.” He breathed against her ear, and she did so.

 

She lifted her hand and set it against the tarnished gilded frame. It stood taller than her which was not shocking in the slightest, it stretched up almost three whole head higher than her and about twice as wide. The metal curled near the top, folded and molded into the shape of a halla, or possibly a ram, or perhaps a creature long ago snuffed out of the world. A few tendrils coiled around the lower half like snakes or sea serpents coiling around to keep guard. The absence of glass did not betray what it was meant to be. 

“That’s an eluvian.” She said without reservation. The short trip through what Morrigan had deemed the ‘Crossroads’ had allowed for similar looking mirrors. But the one before her was more than silent, it was broken and stripped of any trace of glass. Even when she crouched down to inspect the lower lip, there was no shard left to pluck up. There was a brief flicker that she regretted Morrigan’s absence; for all the woman’s arrogance and snide remarks, she was somewhat useful. When Ivuni closed her eyes and attempted to draw the voices of the Well forward for consult, a force seemed to balk against her. 

“What is that sort of thing doing down here?” Bull asked, his distaste for magical anything rather obvious in his voice.

“You don’t suppose elves ever actually journeyed here, do you?” Dorian wondered. “This is so much deeper than any Road we have ever been aware of.”

“Great, something else to get excited about, dwarves using eluvians.” Varric grumbled. “Kind of familiar, that one, though.”

“Yeah, what about this?” Sera called her attention from across the room. “In’t this similar to one of the statues from the temple with Wilds?”

She hadn’t initially noted it, but had rather been drawn first to the horror that had seemingly materialized form the carved altar, and then to the eluvian. Turning her head to the side to match Sera’s angle of perception, the seemingly overturned column was a toppled statue of Mythal, its head dipped in the oddly non-coagulated pool of blood. “What…is this place?” 

“They were afraid of being under the stone.” Cole whispered. 

“Elfy knick knacks in dwarven caverns…and blood sacrifices.” Sera’s nose wrinkled.

“But how?” Ivuni glanced towards Solas who was staring at the altar. “And why?”

 

Her first reaction was to wipe at the lyrium that had been splattered across the left side of her face the moment the Guardian had fallen. She hesitated in dropping her hand to her side when she noted rather than pale blue liquid crystal, bright red blood glared back at her. 

“It’s made from people.” Cole commented. 

Lyrium veins thick and vibrant and pure were everywhere within the underground they thought was the ancient thaig. She had first assumed that they had simply stumbled upon a trove of it, an untapped source that had been waiting for the right hands to mine it. But when she had considered and voiced the thought that they were within the Titan that Valta had spoken of and sought to understand, the idea of lyrium as its blood was…unsettling. 

_Lyrium is alive, or something like it. Blight doesn’t infect minerals, only animals._ Bianca had postulated. At the time they had no evidence of why or how that was possible. It was an ore or crystal substance that was _mined_ from the earth. But if Titans were part of the earth, the theory aligned like an overlooked puzzle piece.

Ivuni looked to Valta who still stood staring at her hands. She had thrown magic, uncontrolled and undirected in some manner, but the dwarven woman had still manipulated magic. The world had determined long ago that dwarves were incapable of using magic, so that Valta had done so was…not right. It had something to do with having been splattered by the Guardian. The song was louder then. Ivuni shook her head. That was what Cole had said. 

“It’s singing.” Cole drew her focus. “A they that’s a it that’s asleep, but still making music.”

Lyrium sang, called out to those who could and chose to hear it. Lyrium was alive.

“I’m going to stay here.” Valta stated.

“That’s…not the brightest of ideas.” Varric replied. 

“I’m staying. I need to know more.” Valta had decided. “It has accepted me.”

“She’s singing, sighing, slipping through the silence.” Cole added as a side. 

“What should we report back to the Shaperate?” Ivuni stepped forward.

“The truth.” Valta said it as though it were obvious. “That you don’t know.”

A faint tremor shuddered through the Wellspring, nothing like the quakes that had been rattling the foundations for the few days they had been above and within, more like a sigh when you woke in the night only to roll back over and slip back into dreams. Ivuni glanced at Valta at the thought. Dwarves did no utilize magic, though it seemed Valta was now an exception. She wondered if the dwarven woman would dream.

“I think now’s a good time as any to return to the fresh air.” Varric pointed out. “You know, back where there’s a sky overhead rather than suffocating rock.”

“I’m with Varric on this one.” Bull agreed.

With little more than a parting nod to Valta, Ivuni turned and moved with their party back the way they had come. When one of the paths seemed blocked, they were forced to move around it, taking a slightly longer and wider approach back towards the main path. 

“A dwarf capable of bending magic.” Dorian mused ahead.

“Unsettled, Vint?” Bull jibed and nudged Dorian in the ribs with his elbow. 

“It’s…fascinating, actually.” Dorian replied. “There are a dozen theories about why dwarves have been incapable of such, and now it seems there is _some_ form of ability somewhere inside. Perhaps with just the right trigger.” He lifted a hand and set it against the back of his neck, pressing fingers into tissue. “When that Guardian exploded, it expelled what seemed to be raw lyrium. It struck the dwarven woman, obviously, anyone else?”

“The boss.” Bull pointed out.

“Great.” Ivuni sighed. “Am I to get glowing freckles next?”

“That could be fun.” Sera giggled beside her. “Be awful for hide-n-go-seek.”

The entire party fell into a shared lighthearted laugh, and for a moment, she felt like the weight on her shoulders shifted. It was good to hear everyone laugh. It was hard to pinpoint the last time she had heard so much of it. The tavern perhaps, before she and Sera had stumbled out into the keep’s courtyard. Before Solas had scooped her up off her feet. 

The familiar glimmer of light against glass briefly stole her attention and she would have kept moving, missed it completely, if not for the peak of green that reached out from the dark, leaves fluttering. Her progression paused, curiosity tickling her thoughts and she felt the Well swell in her mind. A step towards the dark cavern and another flicker of light glinted back at her, then another. Wood groaned, and she paused once more, her eyes narrowing.

“Why you stopping?” Sera turned back towards her.

She wasn’t sure how to respond and instead simply glanced towards Sera before returning her focus towards the cavern. Then she stepped off the path and towards it. 

“Hey!” Sera’s voice called after her, and then the familiar heavy steps of Bull followed, and several other pairs in line. 

It was as dark as it appeared from the path, little light within, only the light from out in the open offered a glimpse inside, but what stood before her, the sound of glass tinkling together, was obvious though however confusing. Her feet came to pause and all she could do suddenly was stare. It was difficult to tear her gaze away, even when her companions moved through her periphery and she became aware of Bull lingering at her side. 

“Something wrong, boss?”

It wasn’t wrong, it was…odd. The tree was massive. The cavern they had stepped into was gigantic, so much so that it was easy to forget that they were still deep underground. Then she crossed the invisible threshold that separated the cavern from everywhere else. The glow started simple and faint, brightening as she took another step further inside. Lyrium veins that stretched across the walks like webbing and what appeared to be fireflies lifted up from the grass that she stepped into. Another step, another cluster of tiny spheres of light.

“That,” she whispered as she looked up at the massive tree, small pieces of cut glass suspended from silver threads along every branch, and what had seemingly been once vibrant red and violet paint applied to the trunk, “that is a vhenadahl.” 

“It was a gift.” Cole spoke and Ivuni looked at him, finding him gazing up at the tree. 

“Cole.” Solas stepped towards the boy.

“She gave it to her as an offering of friendship.” The spirit looked at him. “She was afraid, though, scared to take it home with her. Dark looks, voices red. She promised to take care of it, promised to sing.”


	22. Chapter 22

Her lungs were burning with every breath that she tried to draw inward. Flat on her front, she eyed her bow that had been knocked just out of reach. As quickly as Dorian and Solas could raise barriers, they had been as occupied as she was with the possessed dragon before them. The last line of ice it had spit had cut straight between her and the rest of the party, close enough that she had felt the freezing air of it plunge a path down her throat and into her chest so cold it may as well have been flame. 

She huffed and puffed as she pushed herself up from her belly and onto her hands and knees, her senses running high. In response, Hakkon shifted his head, but it lolled sideways as though he hadn’t the strength any longer to lift it upward. Perhaps that was the case as Bull had managed a deep cut near the base of his throat before he had finally keeled, likely severed enough tendons to keep the dragon from ever truly lifting itself back up again.

Even with it collapsed before her and bleeding out, struggling to breathe itself, she felt Hakkon still had somewhat of an upper hand. A god locked within a dragon, indeed. He was so unlike Corypheus, he simply knew his power and wielded it, did not grandstand like the would-be god Magister. He gave his name and that in itself was his power, what identified him and made him real. But truly, what was a god? 

“Not so…bold…now…” she gasped, “are you?”

The dragon grunted in reply.

“Told you…my arrow would find your heart.” 

“I thought you…little more than a whelp. Some shadow trying to play the role of a great warrior.” Hakkon’s voice rumbled, even when his reptilian lips didn’t form the words, too busy gasping for breath. “But I can see it now. All…golden.” Hakkon breathed.

Ivuni frowned and then rolled her eyes. “Yeah…the hair is great-”

“No.” He cut through her thought almost as though he had anticipated her attempt to argue. “Inside. Obscured by so much green.” His eyes drooped, and he allowed the muscles in his neck to give, settling his jaw against the ground. “Shouldn’t…be green.”

The mark pulsed against her palm, against the inside of her wrist, it curled upward about her forearm in a warm and steady stream, it reached further and further every day. So much green. So much green over everything else that made her what she was. One god’s power bound to her skin, another bleeding the red out of her hair. How much more could a mortal body hold? Power sparked wildly and painfully against her fingertips and she curled them against the heel of her hand.

“He’s seen it before, felt it like the cold rising from the deep.” Cole murmured next to her. “It…hurts to remember. Hurts to remember him and the way he laughed.”

“Compassion.” Hakkon hissed, all but spit the word as though he did not want it on his tongue any longer than it was necessary to identify the being. “Stolen.”

“No.” Cole lifted his hand as though to deflect the word. “Too young to thieve, even then, even when the halls sang with the endless song. Even when the tree took root.”

“What…is golden?” Ivuni interrupted as she pushed herself onto her left hip. 

“Inside it creates a halo.” Cole replied, simply, drawing a circle with his fingers. “The Fade is singing.”

“I hear it.” Hakkon sighed.

“Calling.” Cole lifted a hand as though to set it against the dragon, but never made contact. “Calling, beckoning to come.”

“So much gold.”

A large hand slid around her waist and hoisted her to her feet. The familiar sturdy form of a Qunari met her back as he straightened her and Hakkon exhaled once more, then did nothing further. “We should inform the Thane, boss.” Inform an Avaar Thane that one of their gods was dead, slain by mortal hands.

“That’s…probably a good idea.” She agreed.

“Though I doubt it would take long for her to figure it out on her own.” He nudged her shoulder. “You being such a renowned dragon slayer, and all.”

Ivuni smirked as she swayed on her feet. “I imagine the absence of a vengeful dragon not wreaking havoc would be a pretty big tip off.”

“Can I have the skull, Inquisitor?” Krem stepped up beside her. 

“Krem de la crème!” Bull stomped his foot. “Have some respect for the dead.”

Krem scoffed. “Don’t be sore that you didn’t put it out there first, chief.”

 

The raven stretched its neck, exposing it to her as her fingers glided across its shoulder. She was surprised that it had followed them this far into the mountains. That Leliana managed to keep them roosted, comfortable, and well fed within Skyhold was sometimes mind boggling to her. That the single eyed raven thought to keep pace with them as they ventured further into the cold tickled her curiosity. If she didn’t know better, she would think it more than a bird. 

Maybe it was. 

“Again with that bird.” Dorian sighed as he sat down beside her.

Ivuni smirked in reply, grateful for the company and the distraction his presence could offer to dampen the weight in her chest. She tried to chase it, but every attempt to banish it from herself only seemed to wind it tighter in to place, forced it to throb and ache. “At least he remains.” 

Dorian shifted beside her, inhaling through his nose. “They’re not all like that.”

“Are you talking about the elf or the bird?”

He chuckled in reply, a somber sound. “Both, my dear.”

She pursed her lips. “At the moment, I think I prefer the bird.”

When he reached a hand towards the raven and extended his fingers, it snapped at him as it often did, either in warning or true distaste for anything Tevinter, she wasn’t sure which. “I’m sure it’s a demon possessing an innocent creature.”

“And of all the people it could bond with in this Inquisition, it chose me. I’m flattered.”

“It must have been your beautiful spirit that drew it in.” Dorian mused. 

Her features softened and fell flat as she let the raven take hold of her focus once more. It nudged against her forefinger and she curled it around its head and drew an invisible line towards the center of its chest, then it sighed. It ruffled its feathers in reply and then turned its head, sliding its beak against its right shoulder and closing its single eye, blue disappearing beneath glossy black.

_You have a rare and marvelous spirit._

Ivuni drew her hand back to herself and glanced towards her bare, dust covered toes. Then movement drew her focus up towards Bull who moved across the camp, firelight flickering against his skin and off his shoulders as he sat himself down on a barrel to join the other chargers in a card game. Cassandra and Varric were bickering about folded steel and trade out of Orzammar directly across the fire from where she sat. Cole was holding something cupped in his hands towards Sera and she was doing her best not to squirm at the sight.

“I think it’s a salamander, which is surprising.” Dorian commented.

“Surprising that Cole is holding a salamander?” She tilted her head.

Dorian shook his head, a chuckle on his lips. “Surprising that Sera seems so put off by the sight of one. You’d think the Queen of Pranks would find such a creature both enduring and useful.”

Ivuni chuckled then. “I don’t think she needs any ideas or encouragement. She’d likely slip them into bedrolls.”

“What a horrible thought.”

An Avaar woman sat down beside Sera and leaned forward to peer at the creature in Cole’s hands, then held her hands out for it when he reached it towards her. Sera scooted back half a foot, scowling when the blue-green lizard crawled from one set of fingers to another and the woman giggled at the action.

Sliding her eyes away from the trio landed her solidly on the scholarly elf leaned back against a crate with a book in his hands, his form relaxed as he thumbed a page. She envied his apparent calm, it weathered hard and bright against the cold aching coil inside of her, taunting in a way, daunting and cruel. She tasted blood long before she felt the sting of her teeth slicing through her lower lip.

Fingers around her jaw and lifted her back to a warm pair of kohl rimmed olive green eyes. “Let your heart feel the weight of your sorrow, let it feel the pressure and the pain, let it feel the sinking despair.” He murmured to her. “But do not lose yourself in that depth, you need to be able to swim against that current and rise up out of it.”

She smiled back at him and it was a trying effort. “And why is that?”

“First, we need you to save the world.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against the center of her chin. “Second, I have a fair few friends in this world, and I would like to keep you.” 

When she tried again, her smile was warmer. He leaned forward and pecked a kiss against the tip of her nose as reward before he released her and pushed himself to his feet. He bade her good night and then disappeared amongst the other bodies and tents that circled the fire. 

She could have sat there for hours or moments, her eyes on the flickering before her as her thoughts attempted to slip out of her tight grip. If she could keep herself composed, she could continue to be herself and no one would press her. At least that was what she continued trying to convince herself of. She was not weak, she did not break. She was meant to care for and provide for a clan, to persevere beyond a hiccup of change. That was what a bruised heart was. A momentary distraction. 

She was better than that.

She was-

“Inquisitor?” A small voice that fit inside of the little figure that stood between her and the fire chased her thoughts. Big doe brown eyes stared at her, patiently imploring, teeth worrying a pouty lip.

Ivuni prompted her features to brighten in response. “Hello, da’len.”

The child hesitated, glanced briefly over her shoulder as though she thought to change her mind, then whipped her focus back into place and took a step forward. She crouched to the ground then as she inched closer, finally folding onto her knees at her side. “Inquisitor,” the little voice whispered, “did you truly slay Hakkon?”

Ivuni gave a nod in reply. “Yes.” 

The girl braided her fingers in her lap. “I see him in my dreams.” She confessed with a sigh. “He chases me through the higher mountains towards ledges. Then I have to jump, and I’ve never learned to fly.”

Reaching forward, she traced her fingertips along one smooth cheek. “Hakkon has left this world.”

“But he is a god.” The girl countered.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “but trapped within a dragon, he bled red just as anything else living would.”

The girl seemed to consider it, then a resigned smile settled on her bow lips. Then she crawled forward until she sat just at her right side. A small hand lifted up and a finger set against her cheek, then proceeded to trace invisible lines. “Thane Svarah says that you are Dalish, but you do not have any marks.”

_They are slave markings._

“I did, once.” She replied.

“How did you make them go away?”

“I allowed them to be taken.”

The girl frowned. “With magic?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

Ivuni’s brows lifted slowly in response to the familiar question. If she offered an answer, it could lead to another question, one far more complex, or a simple echo. But why. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

“Is your hand green all the time?”

She couldn’t help the short chuckle in response to the rapid -and thankful- change in subject. “It seems that way, as of late.” Ivuni lifted her left hand and turned it over, the light from within faint for the time being and the small girl set her smaller hand against her palm.

“It’s pretty.” 

_Obscured by so much green._

When she didn’t respond, the girl drew her hand back to muffle a yawn. Then without asking permission, curled herself against Ivuni’s side and set the side of her face against her hip. A thin arm draped across her hips and the body sighed. “Good night, Inquisitor.”

“On nydha, da’len.”

When she lifted her focus, she found the campsite quieter, Sera and Dorian gone to bed, Cassandra and Varric seemingly as well. Bull and Dalish remained, speaking quietly between themselves. When she dared to sweep her gaze towards Solas, he was looking at her, curiosity in his eyes, tinged by something…else. Ivuni forced herself to look away before he could beat her to it. 

Fingers curled into the thin blanket about her thighs and her hand settled against the dark hair. “It is all right, da’len.” She stroked her finger along the plump little cheek as the Avaar girl curled tighter against her side, snuggling in. “Go to sleep.” She murmured against the top of her head. “I will keep Hakkon at bay.” The tune came without thought or reach for it, a lullaby that Deshanna used to quietly sing to her when she was small, a lullaby that many of their people sang to their children to chase their fears and bait their dreams.

It took less time than it did for her to complete the song for the small body at her side to slacken and for her breathing to even out. Ivuni kept her gaze on the fire, more so too tired to care to turn it elsewhere.

“Merrill used to hum that same tune to herself when she would brush her hair.” Varric said from her left, his arms folded across his chest, his mind teetering between the conversation and his thoughts. “Or when she would stare at her eluvian, trying to piece it together.”

“She was shunned from her clan.” Ivuni replied quietly, her fingers absentmindedly combing through the girl’s wild raven hair. She was aware of Varric shifting his weight from one leg to the other searching for an argument likely meant to defend his old companion. “It would be natural for her to want something that was familiar to comfort her when she needed such.”

“That’s…yeah.” Varric crossed his ankles. “What do you…do you know much about her?”

“Her Keeper turned her out for using blood magic.”

Varric gave a few nods of his head. “In a manner.” Varric squinted. “Is that a common act amongst clans?”

It could be or it couldn’t be. Anyone that wasn’t Dalish grouped their kind into one, assuming they all ascribed to the same thoughts, the same rules, the same routines. Her people sought the past, sought to preserve it and honor it, but that didn’t make them mindless identical drones. “I suppose it would depend on the Keeper. Though, blood magic is…not exactly a welcomed form of magic. I imagine most -if not all- Keeper’s would respond in similar fashion.” She frowned, though. “Even so, magical ability amongst my people is treasured and coveted, a clan would be hard pressed to truly exile a Mage unless their presence posed a threat to the clan as a whole.” Varric seemed to consider her words. “But she wanted to go, didn’t she?” It was not so much a question.

Varric didn’t outright respond, but he chuckled lightly in reply. 

“Magic is magic.” She gave a nod.

An Avaar woman approached and knelt at her side, setting a hand against the dark head pressed into her hip. “My apologies, Inquisitor. I told Kira to leave you be for the evening.”

“No harm done.” She replied as the woman set a knee against the ground and then pushed her hands under and around the smaller form. “She implied she feared Hakkon would return.”

The woman smiled. “She has a very active imagination.” Then she stood with the little body curled up in her arms. “Thank you for keeping her company.”

 

The dream came to life almost as soon as she shut her eyes. The temple stretched out before her and her fingertips drifted along the edge of the silken fabric that split high against her left thigh. It slipped between her fingers, dancing across her palm and wrist, it fluttered at her side and shifted around her leg as she moved quietly across the cold floor. Her right hand reached out to gently slid along the the lines of the beautifully painted wall, blue firelight reflecting off scattered specks of crushed jewels pressed into the artwork.

Figures moved by her intermittently, and few offered her even a glance, the shadows that she clung to kept her out of sight. Her bare feet made her motions all the easier, all the more fluid. Startling the priestess had not been intentional. The woman had jumped, offering a quiet apology until she lifted her face upward and her eyes fell on her, then a hurried and desperate plea had threatened to rise from her lips. When she reached out for her, the priestess nearly collapsed to the floor until she reached out and insisted she stay herself.

Lingering on the edges of her perception was a darker presence that attempted to press up against her consciousness as though it were trying to take control of the dream, yet it would fall away as though some invisible force kept it away. Even as she struggled to reach out and make sense of it, it was little more than shadow across the pale marble floor, reaching for her, then it would turn to vapor and disperse. She felt it, her skin prickled in response. A cold wash of anticipation feathered against her cheeks and she shifted, turning half a circle trying to figure out where it was coming from. She held her breath, waiting for the familiar force to slide in to champion her and drive the darkness away, but it never came. 

And just like that, when she turned back around, he was before her. He stood taller than she was, elven ears peeking out of the shrouded darkness that her mind allowed it to exist in. She tried to force her gaze to focus to sharpen out the edges and the detail, but it seemed the harder that she tried, the more everything around her blurred. 

He spoke to her, but she couldn’t understand what he said, words caught between murmured distortion that occasionally produced an elven word here or there that she tried to grasp at and muted silence. Still, she couldn’t make heads or tails on whether it was a greeting, a warning, or something darker. Then it reached towards her, not startlingly, however odd it seemed, but a shadowy hand ghosted against her cheek and there was a warmth to the touch that she hadn’t been expecting in the slightest.

He spoke to her and she felt her lips respond, but couldn’t understand what was exchanged. She felt a smile slip across her features. She knew this person. 

Then he pleaded with her, just like before. He kept saying ‘please’ and asking her to ‘leave with him’ right then. He didn’t want her somewhere, or with someone, or…something. She wrenched herself out of his grasp and stepped back away from him, but his footsteps echoed hers and kept him within reaching distance. He spoke further as though to plead his case, but she seemed to be having none of it. 

When he closed the gap between them, she clearly heard him say ‘ir abelas’ and she fixated on the way that he said it. It would be wrong to say it was painful, when in truth it was pained, he was pained. He was so bothered by whatever it was, that apologizing was almost agony for him. She felt it almost as though she could draw his emotions through her skin and let them settle around her very heart to feel them herself. Then he moved and pain buried itself in the center of her chest. It was like white light at first, bursting behind her eyes casting the entire temple in sudden sunlight. As she acclimated, her vision cleared and she found him looking down at her as she sagged in his arms against him. He said ‘ir ableas’ again and she felt herself tremble, felt whatever it was in her chest twist deeper. She managed to let her head tip against his shoulder as she looked down at herself, watched blood rapidly soak through the white silken fabric of her precisely draped dress. There was so much blood, so much already turning red and falling down the front of her. 

She sucked in a sharp and ragged breath as she tore herself free of the Fade’s embrace, forcing herself up and away from the blankets, her hand grasping at her chest. “Get out, get out.” She murmured over and over as she tugged at the thin fabric over her chest, searching for the hole that was there. It was there, somewhere letting her blood spill out of her in uncontrolled rivulets. Movement beside her only barely brushed up against her anxious clawing and she felt tears threatening to crest as she bunched her shirt in her fists. “It won’t get out.”

A soft glow illuminated the tent and she looked down at her chest, only to find unblemished cream cloth staring back at her. “It was there.” She said, unsure if she was speaking to herself or the man staring at her. “It was there, he put it there and I couldn’t get it out.”

“Where were you?” Solas pressed cautiously. “You were there in the Fade, and then suddenly you were not.” 

“I tried to pull it out.” She hiccupped. “I don’t even know how he put it there when there was no way to draw it back out.” His hand wrapped about one of hers attempting to ground her and he drew it towards himself, forcing her to release her shirt. “He said he was sorry and then he shoved some kind of blade right into my chest.” She choked back a sob. “He said he was sorry like he meant it. And then there was so much blood.”

“Breathe.” He instructed and she did so. 

She drew in a shaky breath, letting it fill her and expand her lungs before slowly exhaling it back outward. Then she repeated the process, twice, and thrice more, letting her eyes slide shut and focused on his hand around hers. That was real, that point of connection was anchored in the waking world and she clung to it as she tried to force her mind to relax. “It was there.” She insisted.

“Breathe.” He repeated.

Ivuni swallowed and pressed her eyes shut tighter, drawing her hand out of his. She exhaled and flopped back onto her pillow and blankets. She pressed her hands against her face and didn’t look towards Solas again to see if he had settled or if he was staring at her. Instead, she rolled onto her side and drew her knees upward. 

Varric was a dwarf who created worlds out of words, breathed life into them with memories. He had an amazing way to make her laugh, could pry it out of her even when she was hurting. He gave everyone nicknames, identifiers, and when he had finally decided upon hers, she had accepted it gratefully. His heart belonged to Bianca who was both a crossbow and a woman, she wondered which one was more deadly. Even if she wanted to bump the woman off a steep cliff.

Cassandra was human, a woman who could stop most soldiers in their tracks with little more than a hard look. She was so fierce in every facet of her life, her faith, her loyalty, her standing as a Seeker…her friendship. She was more than any human she had ever happened upon, so structured with her convictions, yet willing to learn. 

Sera was a fascinating elf. Her mouth ran circles, her opinions were brutal, her thoughts disjointed. Her manipulation with a bow would have made her a prized member of any clan had she been born outside of City walls. Sometimes she wondered if she had been. Sera did not remember anything about her parents, only the human woman that had taken her in. There had been cookies. 

Her breathing lulled and her eyelids drooped further, a hint of sleep brushing up against her mind. It was welcoming, a song almost at the back of her thoughts drawing her in. She could let it claim her, draw her under to seek the rest she so desperately wanted. When her eyes finally slid shut once more, the Fade reached out to encompass her.

Then the sharp pain in her chest and the dark figure forced her to sit back up gasping. “No, no, no. I can’t.” She breathed and shook her head, her right hand going back to her chest. Her free hand pushed at the covers, throwing them back once more and she shifted, intent on crawling out of the tent and into the fresh air that waited outside. 

She stumbled as she rose to her feet and pushed her way out into the cold mountain air. Huffing in several deep breaths, she made herself move, took half a dozen steps towards the center of camp, and then opted for an eastward direction and took another half a dozen steps. One of the sentries took notice of her and stood as straight and tall as he could manage, unsure if he should address her or not. But she paid him no mind, making her way for the border where the wards held back any threat that wished to enter their circle. 

Even when she blinked she could see the figure’s outline, hear the apology lost in the clamor of words she couldn’t quite make out. Why was he sorry? How could he be sorry before he had even committed the act? How could there be so much regret in his voice and still choose to kill her -or whoever he had killed. It was the Fade and it wasn’t the first time she had ever stumbled into someone else’s memories. But memories were usually bound to locations and the dream had started long before the Frostbacks. Long before so much else.

Her hands went again to her chest, tugging at the fabric.

When a figure moved into her periphery, she startled, only to find Solas staring at her, his features almost neutral, but there was an inquisitive quality, concern perhaps more so.

“I’m not crazy.” 

He shifted his weight, turning his head slightly as if he were going to disagree, or maybe he was going to agree, she wasn’t sure in that moment. “I have never thought that you were.” He confessed quietly, an attempt at reassuring her.

She gave a few simple nods as she looked back at her chest. When she closed her eyes for a moment again, she could feel the ache, solid and undiluted right in the center of her sternum. Her eyes snapped back open and she started shaking her head once more. 

“Ivuni.” His voice pressed gently, and she barely registered that he had said her name rather than her title as he had taken to the last several days, ever since… “You need to go back to bed and rest.” She started to shake her head again even as he took enough slow steps forward to bring himself to stand beside her. “We have a long journey back to Skyhold.”

“Maybe it’s the future.” She said, her eyes fixing on the expanse of the shallow marsh that stretched out before them. “Maybe that’s how I die.” He tried to interject an argument, but her mind skipped ahead. “It’s always in a temple, but maybe I just think it is because that’s where this all started.”

“No one is going to be putting a blade through your heart.”

It was a struggle to stifle the nervous chuckle that bubbled up from her throat and danced across her tongue. She found his choice of words were ever so fascinating considering he had metaphorically committed such an act already. “Blade through the heart.” She mused, quietly, she shifted her weight from her right leg to her left and wrapped her arms about herself. “That might be Corypheus’s choice way to strike me down, and then you would be a liar.”

“Ivuni.”

“Solas.”

She drew in a breath in an attempt to calm her trembling as a weighted silence settled and then buoyed between them. It was strange to be that way, comfortable in his presence, and yet cut off from him. 

“I’m probably going to die soon.” Her tone evened out and she felt the trembling subside. “If we defeat him, the world will just remember me as an Inquisitor who disappeared afterward. Just like Ameridan.” At least she wouldn’t die waiting and searching for the one person she loved most as Telana had, death would save her from that if it claimed her. 

“Ir abelas.” She heard him murmur as the world darkened and she collapsed into a pair of arms. Part of her mind would have sworn he said more, but it was too far out of reach to be recalled. The waking world bled away and very little of the Fade feathered against her mind until dawn.


	23. Chapter 23

_I look at you and I see what you truly are._

Her legs worked without direct instruction from her brain, which allowed her to keep pace with the rest of their group, but it allowed her mind to wander without restraint. As beautiful as the lush foliage that spread out around them would often otherwise captivate her, she couldn’t shake the memories that sought to cling to the forefront of her thoughts. She didn’t want them, didn’t need to be reminded of them, not in the moment, yet they pushed forward like a toddler desperately seeking attention.

There wasn’t enough to distract her from it. Not the bending grass and weeds beneath boots and bare feet, not the exchanges made between the other party members, not the bird calls or the humming insects. His voice cut up against her like a dull blade seeking to sink beneath her skin.

_They are slave markings._

Once more, the Dalish were apparently wrong in what they had sought to cling to. He continued to break her thoughts, her beliefs, her people. Ever since the very beginning when he cited the Dalish likened to children. She should have realized it sooner that he would break more than her convictions, she should have stepped back then, when he had reeled back at her claim, when he had cut down her insistence that he teach her people. She should have realized it when he insisted that her people didn’t want anything he had to offer. 

She should have realized it when she had first felt her heart quicken at the sight of him.

She should have realized it when he had taken her hand and thrust it towards that very first rift. 

_I didn’t tell you this to hurt you._

The threat of tears prompted her to lift her chin and she turned her eyes away from Bull’s back and up into the trees. If she could focus her mind elsewhere, perhaps his voice would fall away from her thoughts, tuck itself away in the recesses of her memories. The mark snapped a line up her forearm and she inhaled through her teeth in response to the sting. 

Morrigan shifted in her periphery and glanced towards her, genuine curiosity in her golden eyes. She wouldn’t dare to label it concern, Morrigan cared for herself and her own endeavors. It was only knowledge and secrets that compelled her to ‘lead’ them in their current task. Still, she held her gaze for several steps until the Witch turned away first. She would not be cowed by a human.

Fingers shot out to grip her chin and she let her lower lip slip from between her teeth as she looked at Dorian beside her. He had that look on his face, the one that was reprimanding, so much the way Elwen used to look at her when she had done something she knew she shouldn’t have. “I’m not sure why you insist on scarring something so lovely.”

“Habit.” She murmured.

He released her then. “I fear I may have to start beating you to curb it.”

“I think you may enjoy that too much.”

Dorian feigned shock. “I would never lower myself to such an-”

“I’m sorry, what was Bull’s safe word again?” She smirked when Dorian’s feet hesitated and briefly paused behind her. “Come, Dorian.” She clapped and hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. “No, please, I did not mean it the way he does.” A snap of purple electricity popped against her right wrist and tingled straight to her shoulder, he hadn’t even really moved. “Damnit, you ass.” She chortled even as she gripped her numb arm against herself.

A coy smile toyed with his features. 

“Children, please.” Vivienne sighed as she moved passed them.

“She’s talking about you.” Ivuni stuck her tongue out and turned to follow the enchantress. 

“Ha!” Dorian dropped his head back and brought her to pause. “The only one looking ridiculous is you.” He insisted as he put himself beside her and they again fell back ins step with the rest of the part. “With your dead arm at your side.”

“I can still beat you with it.”

 

There was a churning, more than just a haze or smoke rising up from the ground, bending blades of grass. It was power, the Well whispered at the back of her mind, a buzzing that fought to remain tempered, yet failed to keep itself completely in check. It reached out, drawing her focus, pushing it beyond what she was able to perceive on the physical plane, yet she pressed her eyes shut briefly against the impending flood, afraid of the way that the Well’s insistence made her feel, like her control was slipping. 

A figure took shape, a woman tall and proud, her skin lined and her hair as white as freshly fallen snow. There were blood red ribbons woven through and around her strands, gathering sections to curl backward like…horns, perhaps. A metallic crown of sorts against her forehead sitting perfectly aloft above a pair of glittering gold eyes. Her clothing was black; leather, feather, fur, and cloth. A glint of light weight armor curved around just the right notches. 

Perhaps a servant of the goddess, were she not human.

“Mother.” Morrigan spoke, the word bitter on her tongue, used to identify rather than endear. 

“Mother?” Ivuni echoed, a question more than an accusation. 

The older woman tilter her head, a gentle furrow to her brow, curiosity bright in her eyes. “Now, isn’t this a surprise?”

Ivuni frowned gently. “This…is Mythal?”

“She is a deceiving witch!” Morrigan shrieked, magic curling around her arms and reaching to take hold of her entire form.

But Mythal…or the human woman before them, sighed, calm and patient. “Be a good girl and restrain her.”

She felt it, like a hand reaching into her chest and wrapping ice cold fingers around her heart. She had never before in her entirely short life felt her fear thrum so wildly from within. Within the temple, when she had decided to take of the Well of Sorrows herself, she had quietly balked at the idea of being compelled into the service of a dead goddess. It had seemed far more afield after Abelas had insisted that Mythal had been slain. Yet as her body moved against her desire to do so, shifted around on her toes and put her form between Morrigan and the would-be Mythal to shove the younger woman back, Ivuni finally understood. She understood the cost of having given herself to a god, having her will overridden. She understood Solas’s frustration with the choice she had made.

And yet.

“What are you doing!?” The brunette gasped.

Morrigan’s accusation shook her, drew her thoughts to the forefront and pushed the whispers of the Well aside. “I…don’t know.” She flexed her fingers, finding minute control as she looked down at her open upturned hands. 

“Of course you know.” Mythal’s voice skittered up her spine like a threatening blade. “You drank from the Well, did you not?” 

Morrigan took a step back, and seemingly in disengaging herself, Ivuni felt herself released. “Then you…are Mythal?” The Witch pressed.

“Mythal was the Goddess of Justice.” Ivuni shook her head. “I’ve seen the statues, she…”

“Was one of the People.” The woman finished with a nod that almost seemed encouraging. “Yes, indeed.”

“I don’t understand.” Morrigna interrupted. “How can _you_ be Mythal?”

And then the woman, Mythal, gave her story, her testament. How she had been but a woman, how the slip of a spirit had come to her and endowed her with power and knowledge, made her more than what she had been. A cry for justice answered by the goddess who had wielded such. And yet, it did not seem to be _justice_ that the joined spirit sought. It was darker, far more selfish than justice was ever meant to be. It aligned more with Mythal’s consort. 

Vengeance.

“Then you carry Mythal inside of you.”

“She is a part of me.” She claimed, lifting a hand towards her sternum, her eyes fixating on the blue set staring down at her, a slight smirk turned the right corner of her mouth. “No more separate than the heart from your chest. What do the voices tell you?” When she posed her question, her tone shifted from informative to warmth, guiding.

The clamor came when she reached for it, a dozen individual tones ushering forward to be chosen from, each offering an interpretation, but each in agreement. “They say you speak the truth.”

“But what _was_ Mythal?” The woman pressed. “A legend given name and called a god? Or something more?” She paused again, her eyes searching, her features encouraging once more to seek further. “Truth is not the end, but a beginning.” Then she left the spot magic had borne her from and moved towards them. There was no threat to her step, simply motion that propelled her forward and up the steps of the altar to stand before them. She seemed to regard Morrigan quietly before turning. “So young.” She said, glancing towards Ivuni and hesitantly reached a hand out towards her. “And vibrant.” Then she seemed to catch herself and drew her hand back to her side. “You do the People proud.” A pang of something unnamable had coursed through her at the notion after being told she was a shadow, nothing more than a remnant. But her, she saw her as more, as a _person_. Then Mythal took a step back to look between them both. “As for me, I have had many names, but you may call me Flemeth.”

Ivuni started. Asha’bellenar.

 

She lifted her hand, and unlike with Hakkon, she set it with care against the dragon’s snout. It exhaled, it’s breath sweeping around her, warmth buffering against her skin. Its eyes had locked on her the moment it had given in and refused to stray as though enraptured by her presence. An exchanged happened then, physical, magical, something she couldn’t quiet explain, something binding. Something else seeking to settle inside of her. This Inquisition was leaving visible and unseen scars, marks, brands, all across her body and psyche. Now a dragon. It hummed and tipped its head gently into her touch. 

“We’re not…keeping it, are we?” Dorian asked. “I mean afterward. It’ll be free to seek out other dragons rather than huddling up in the rookery with the ravens?”

Ivuni smiled and the dragon exhaled once more, the force ruffling the strands of her hair that had pulled loose out of the three thick braids that wound into the knot at the nape of her neck. “What’s wrong, Dorian?”

He stepped into her left periphery. “Nothing, darling, you go ahead and continue to play with the large fire breathing dragon like it’s a kitten.”

“Boss, can I have its-”

“No, Bull.” She sighed, her smile widening. 

“Yeah, but, it’s under your spell.” The Qunari insisted. “It would be so easy to just take it to-”

“No, Bull.” She repeated herself.

“It would look so great as-”

“Chief!” Kren groaned. 

“I fear that one eyed raven is going to find it necessary to fight for your attention.” Dorian mused, stroking his chin in thought. “I can hardly wait.”

“If this will drive that thing off,” Vivienne took a brief pause as though to consider her choice of words with care, “I think I may welcome its presence.”

“You?” Varric scoffed. “Put off by some bird?”

“It’s a raven, dwarf, with misbalanced sight.” Vivienne retorted. “I’d sooner see its feathers in the pleats of a corset.”

“Still,” Varric crossed his arms, “most mages are…usually friendly with animal familiars.”

“Familiars?” Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”

A hand wrapped around her upper arm and a muted gasp slipped between her lips, breaking the spell between her and the dragon. The creature huffed, drawing back, and Ivuni shifted to put her sights on Solas beside her. He regarded her briefly before looking towards the point of contact between his palm and her own skin. She followed his focus to the site and noted the blood spiraling down bare skin towards her wrist. 

Wind pushed around them and a thick heavy flap of wings lifted the dragon up from the ground. It took to the air with ease, rising, rising, until it seemed to catch a slip stream and then it twisted itself along the course and out of sight.

A warming ache spider webbed out from where the hand held purchase around her, drawing her attention away from the sky, the clouds clearing out to reveal blue sky that was starting to pinken near the horizon. She briefly fixated on Solas and the side of his face, let her eyes sweep towards the long line of his jaw, and unconsciously followed it up towards the tip of his ear. A flush warmed her cheeks and she forced herself to look away from him. 

Fingers uncurled and the pressure released. “A little more care, please.” He said quietly before stepping away from her side. 

 

Ivuni glanced up at the sky as they cross the drawbridge. Great wings snapped in response, a deep resounding bellow rattle the metal beneath her feet, but she couldn’t help the smile that slid onto her face as the dragon swooped low, its wings just barely missing skimming the battlements. Then, as it had when it left them behind at the altar, it twisted high into the sky and gave chase after the wind. 

“What the shite is that!?” Sera shrieked from the courtyard.

Bull chuckled from beside her. “Boss’s new pet.” He called ahead. 

She elbowed him in the side. “It’s not a pet.” She chided, even as her smile fought to take its place once more.

“That thing is not staying here is it!?” The blonde stomped her foot. 

“Plenty of room on the second level of the tavern.” Bull teased as they crossed the keep’s threshold. 

Dorian set his hands on his hips. “Thought you’d appreciate another chance to slip a lizard into someone’s sleeping area.”

“Up yours.” Sera snorted. 

Solas moved by them without a word and took to the steps leading upward without a glance back. Against her better judgement, she watched him ascend, watched the way his form moved, watched and again envied his apparent calm. She had confronted him on the way back, pressing him about whether or not he would ever confess more to her. 

_The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough._

_You really don’t let anyone see under that polite mask you wear, do you?_

_You saw more than most._

“Ugh, that guy.” Bull growled. 

“Let it go, Bull.” Varric rumbled form behind them. He looked up briefly at her, then glanced at Bull before he shook his head. “Elves.” Then he too moved passed them and his place was exchanged with Sera who beamed.

“Right,” the other elf popped a hip out and folded her arms, “barely over the mountain ridge and the frilly trio are already anxiously awaitin’ your return. Some fancy plannin’ goin’ on in that room with th’big table.”

“War room, dear girl.” Dorian corrected.

Sera scoffed. “Only war goin’ on in there is ‘tween egos.” She tipped her head and then gestured with her chin towards the keep. “That gardening girl was lookin’ for you too. She gets all glowy and bright about the roses.”

“I think,” she squinted against the sun, “that I’m going to go lay down first.”

“Sleep, dream, and find the places in between.” Cole’s voice ghosted against her bare right shoulder and she turned just enough to look at him. “A tether to be severed in the unwaking. Waiting there, curious…pained like nothing else could wound. A smile to be given.” Then he met her eyes with his own.

“Yeah…” Bull coughed.

Then she left them each where they chose to be.

The ascent into the keep, the trek through the hall and the scattered patrons and nobles, the heavy door, it all seemed so mechanical. She offered little more than a few nods in response to acknowledgements to her presence. She was aware of Cullen stepping into the hall from the direction of the war room, where she should have been headed. She was aware of him stepping forward to address her, only to be cut off by Varric moving into his line. She offered the shorter man a silent prayer of thanks as she slipped into the stairwell.

The steps upward, she counted mindlessly. She wasn’t sure whey she thought that she needed to know them and their number. 

She dropped her pack at the upper landing and her hands set immediately to unwinding her leather and metalwork from her form. Belts first, satchels, her tunic and then the fineweave. She slipped it all off of herself, until she stood in little more than her small clothes. The table beside the bed held a waiting pitcher and basin and she made quick work of wiping the road from her face and skin. She used the waiting cloth to towel herself dry before she crossed the room to the waiting dresser and drew on the familiar lightwear clothing that made her appear somewhat normal, human normal.

In the mirror, she caught sight of herself and she struggled not to frown at the image that stared back at her. She lifted a hand towards the side of her face, then pushed her fingers towards her hairline, traced the white that glinted gold in the right lighting. It was seeking to claim more, reaching further, yet the length was also doing so. It took her ever so slightly longer each day since the Well had bonded to her to gather back her lengthening locks, fix it into loose thick braids, twist it at the back of her head or her nape. 

When she closed her eyes, the presence of the Well hummed quietly but sought nothing more. 

She exhaled and turned towards the ridiculously large bed and tucked herself beneath the edge fo the covers, drawing them around her form as she attempted to push herself through the intangible barrier that separated sleep from wakefulness. 

“Such simplicity.” A voice baited her into opening her eyes again, but the castle walls and windows did not stare back at her. 

It was green and gold. Sections of the ground suspended, shattered stone, broken statues, a castle in the distance, a city line that stretched perpetually out of reach. 

“I should confess my surprise, though it really shouldn’t be such.” The voice spoke once more and Ivuni slowly turned about to gauge her immediate surroundings. Given her location, she should have been prepared for a confrontation, especially alone. “Do not fear, child.” Then her sights settled on a woman back near the beginning of where she had started her search. “Spirits and demons know better than to breach my presence in this place.”

Her hair was dark, something akin to dried blood, a red so deep that it was only telling when she stepped forward and it caught against some eerie change in lighting around them. Lapis blue eyes stared at her, shifting ever so slightly as though to take in every detail of her face. The tips of pointed ears peaked out from beneath the simple waves that hung to the woman’s waist. A simple golden circlet reached across her bare forehead and disappeared into the sea of her hair. Her light skin was…perfect, for lack of a better word, it almost glowed, a single freckle beneath her left eye. 

She was dressed in a simple sky blue gown, a gauze-like fabric that draped away from her right shoulder, secured with an amber broach. A thick gold band belted the dress against her waist, giving the dress form as it spilled then from her hips towards the ground beneath their feet. She wore little in the way of jewelry, a thin gold chain about her neck and a few bands at her fingers.

It was possible that she was one of the most beautiful things that Ivuni had ever seen.

Then the woman inclined her head. “Your thoughts are loud.” She smiled, but it quickly seemed to falter. “There would be no reason for you to have learned to temper them, no bond to others of your kind that would allow them to be privy to such.” Her tone was that of disappointment, yet there was a hint of bitterness to it. 

“Who…are you?” She finally managed when she could find her voice.

The elven woman smiled again. “We’ve already met once.” She folded her hands gracefully before her and her lips tugged further apart when Ivuni frowned in confusion. “We spoke at the altar.”

At the…

“Asha…” Ivuni pressed her teeth together. That wasn’t right. That name was wrong, it belonged to the human woman. Or did it? They were the same person. Weren’t they?

“Yes, my dear.” 

“Mythal?” It left her as little more than a whisper.

The smile saddened slightly at the edges and she drew in a slow breath. “You have come so far, and yet this world seeks more from you.”

“How?” She fought for her thoughts. “But you look…” she bit at her lower lip and suddenly wondered if she should bow, curtsy, drop herself flat onto the ground. Then the woman -Mythal- was moving towards her, a quick measure to her step and her hands held outward, palms upturned. “I don’t…” Hands slid around the sides of her face and she exhaled audibly as she closed her eyes and let herself feel. It was safe there, warm, comforting. There was no Well lingering in the background of her thoughts.

“It should be quieter, but you are _so_ young.” Mythal spoke against her ear, her voice so much smoother and lighter than that of the human woman she shared existence with. “Let it speak to you, let it guide you and give you pieces of the past, but let it not govern you.” When Mythal drew back enough to look at her, she realized the goddess was not much taller than her, perhaps only a few finger-widths. “Be free of the compulsion that binds you to it.” A subtle heat seeped into her skin, gently burned its way through her tissues and veins. “You are so perfect.” She spoke quietly. “Now, wake up.”

Her eyes pulled open in the pink light of the setting sun. When the rosy hue shifted to green, she pinched herself to reaffirm her wakefulness. The anchor thrummed against her palm, its power crackling painfully against her fingertips and drawing her quickly from her bed. 

“Boss!” Bull’s voice bellowed up the stairwell. “Coryphyshit has come out to play!”


	24. Chapter 24

Days came, and days went. 

Nobility and royalty alike sought her attention and presence. They sought the sight of the Inquisitor, the one who remained, the one who lived. The definition of living, she realized, was vague. It could be as colorful as one wished it to be, or it could be as gray and cold as the Storm Coast. 

Somehow, they had won, had managed to survive. Somehow, they had been allotted a reprieve from the chaos. Somehow, they had managed what she had quietly thought impossible. And somehow, she had walked away from it with her life in her hands, and her heart outside her chest. 

As with the initial attempt, their spies found no trace of… _him_. They never did.

The clan didn’t stare the way that she thought they would when she returned, they instead embraced her, drew her in to their number and celebrated her victory and her survival. They didn’t ask about her hair, they didn’t ask about the marks that had been stolen from her face, they didn’t ask about the occasional dragon shadow that passed over Wycome. They didn’t ask why she had to leave when she did so to return to the Inquisition; they met her near the city gates and sent her with mementos and loving words each time she had to leave. 

Only Elwen watched her with both caution and intrigue, much as she had for the duration of her life, and she wasn’t sure she wished for that to change. 

The world righted itself slowly. 

The tear in the sky became a scar, the faintest slip of green that was only noticeable to those who knew where to look. At first it had been offered caution, yet as days became weeks, became months, and it remained closed and quiet, Thedas relearned how to breathe. The Breach rendered little more than a remnant of a time that the world would soon all but forget, much like the crumbling ruins littered across the face of known world, the fractured monuments of her peoples’ past. Much like the world had slowly forgotten about Ameridan at one point. 

At first, the mark in her hand was more often quiet than bothersome, yet anytime she ventured near ancient ruins or veilfire, it kindly reminded her of its presence. In those endeavors, it reached and bit through her skin like a knife carving a path up the length of her forearm and slowly began reaching beyond the hinge of her elbow. Then there were nights she would come awake from dreams of _him_ , or horrible nightmares that the mark seemed to respond to, ripping and flaring wildly, and leaving her aching for hours on end unable to fall back into sleep’s embrace.

A year to the day that the Breach was sealed, the anchor seemed to awaken and began its slow but gradual decent into agony. 

There was no cure.

As Corypheus had snarled at her at Haven, the mark was permanent. Morrigan, as wayward as she had been to disappear from Skyhold in the wake of Corypheus’s defeat, sent word that she continued to find no way to remove the mark. None of the Dalish knew what it was, let along how to manipulate it, and no remnant of any circle had any tomes to give it a name beyond what had been established by the Inquisition’s time. 

She had survived the confrontation with a would-be god and forced him out of the world, yet she silently believed his meddling that led to the brand in her palm would inevitable take her life even when his own hand had failed. How could it not. She watched it climb ever so slowly higher along the length of her arm. At some point it would reach her chest behind which her heart sat, or it would reach upward beyond her neck towards her face and rob her of her ability to perceive the world. 

A glove over it often kept prying eyes from guessing its state. It was easier to persuade her companions that she was fine. It was easier to convince Alistair that the mark was stable when he asked. It was easier to appease the Orlesian royal trio when they offered their own inquiries. She sometimes considered asking Bull to sever it from her body to be done with it entirely, though she wondered if that would rid the magic from her blood, bones, and skin. And yet, elven magic would retain a hold on her regardless. She wondered if Mythal’s will would someday bring her as much pain as the anchor.

The Inquisition became the more pressing issue, its continued existence. 

Too much power, too much influence. Too much of a threat to the whole of Thedas. They had saved everyone from enslavement or annihilation, but then taken up the mantle of what was then threatening. 

Not even Leliana could speak for them long.

Not when whispers of Fen’Harel chased the heels of a Qunari conspiracy that threatened to tip their entire world back in on itself. 

 

The Well shifted like a pendulum weight in her head. There was little in the way of arguing voices, rather a collective and quiet hum of…agreement. His truth was truth, not a lie, not some grand scheme. Even when she pressed the voices, urged them to tell her it was not true, they seemed to withdraw from her reach, cowering in a corner as though wracked with guilt, as if they had always known. 

_Not the right questions._

Not the right questions.

The Well had always known.

_Only by omission._

When she had named him, she had wanted him to balk at the claim. She had wanted all the evidence to be wrong, to have only been construed in a certain light to reflect what she had thought because she had been the one to think it, because she wanted _something_ to give her more of him, to give her answers that he had promised he would share once the fighting ended. Even when fear had prickled her hesitation.

“You must understand,” his voice shook her, shock still that she was hearing it kept her attention centered, “I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil.”

A physical pain had never cut her so deep as that revelation. “We aren’t even people to you?” She was no one. She didn’t register as someone to him if he thought of her and the rest of Thedas as being Tranquil. That meant that-

“Not at first.” It was strange to associate him with the title that had been given and marked and mouthed throughout history, to have him so directly confess a truth. He didn’t bother to sweeten the sound, he simply gave her his undiluted thoughts. Not people. She was suddenly and harshly reminded of the sentinel Abelas’s words in the temple. Not his people, not…people. How could he have ever called her…or touched her, or held her or bothered to listen to anything she said? “ _You_ showed me I was wrong, again.” _You change…everything._ She had not thought he meant it on the scale that he now implied. “That does not make what come next any easier.”

“Solas,” she bit at her lip, “if there was-”

“Please, vhenan.” It was akin to pleading, truly, on his part, a wavering near the end when his tongue hesitated against the roof of his mouth. That word, that name. Even in this place, it still slipped between his lips and she wondered if it was intentional or accidental. So akin to the sound when he had left her standing alone in the dark. _Please, vhenan._

Vhenan.

She dropped her gaze away from him and swallowed uncomfortably, trying to focus her mind elsewhere, and thankfully, bitterly, the anchor throbbed angrily in her hand. “There’s still the matter of the anchor; it’s getting worse.” And it snapped a current of electrical magic up the inside of her forearm prompting her to bite down on her lower lip to keep a painful groan from issuing forth. 

“I know, vhenan, and we are running out of time.”

Once upon a time it would flare first in the pit of her palm and then spread out towards her fingers and wrist before it would climb up the length of her arm. Now it was simply an ongoing ache that refused to abate. Now it was excruciating every moment of every day, enough so that she was sure the pain followed her even into sleep when she could fall under. It snapped and flared wildly, drawing once more away from her and the tension shook her to the core, forcing her down onto her knees.

It tugged at her as though it were trying to break free of her hold, as though she had ever voluntarily sought to keep it bound to herself. When it drew forward again, she pressed her eyes shut to keep the pain from reflecting in them. The jolt forward, she wondered if it were trying to return to him. His magic. It belonged to Fen’Harel.

“The mark will eventually kill you.” His voice closer to her baited her into opening her eyes once more, and her vision of him kneeling before her blurred slightly. “Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you…at least for now.”

“You don’t have to do this.” She breathed. 

He turned his head, looking away from her as though it would change the weight of his reply. “I will save the elven people.” It was like a mantra, he had told her that very claim near half a dozen times already, cut and pieced together in different forms. It was so…ingrained in his thoughts, his actions, as if his every motion was ruled by those very words. 

Pride.

When she looked back up at him once more, he was again fixated on her. “Solas,” she could name each of the emotions sitting in his eyes as though they were her own, “var lath vir suledin.”

His features pinched, anguish flaring from within. “I wish it could, vhenan.”

“Please…” Then the anchor flared again, heating her blood and a shriek raged up from her chest when her skin split in response like a plum squeezed too long, too tight. She dropped her chin and clenched her jaw as a pained sound hissed through her teeth. 

Warmth against her good hand, familiarity, yet something cold and solid pressed against her skin, distracted her enough to let her breathe, to look up and search his face that now sat so much closer, his form knelt before her. “My love…” Light filled his eyes, chasing the man from their depths and replacing him with the ‘god’ that lived inside of him, and for a moment, the world fell away. Lips brushed against hers, seeking permission, seeking _more_. A thumb against her cheek to chase the tear sliding free of the corner of her eye, fingers sliding through the loosened sections of her hair, she tipped her face into his touch and gave him what he sought. She let herself give beneath the pressure he offered, let his mingle with her own, let him nibble at her lower lip before he pushed his tongue into her mouth. 

His hold on her drew her close enough that she both heard and felt him inhale. It was somewhat like a gasp and she half expected him to draw away as though he had caught himself being weak, instead, he tilted his head to deepen the angle and it was like falling back into a familiar dance, he led, she followed, he reached further, and she gave in. Perhaps it was she who was weak. But it _felt so right_. For two years her empty chest had sought the heart that had escaped its confinement only to find it once more near the edge of the world. 

For just a moment that seemed to last both infinitely more, and achingly less.

His lips left hers cold as they once had before, even as he pressed his brow firmly against hers, even as his fingers wound tighter through her hair. “I will never forget you.” Then he was moving, out of her reach and back up to his feet. When she tried to follow, the mark flared once more, only there was no pain to trail the throb.

She could feel it before she could see it happening. The muscles in her hand and forearm locked up, almost like water rapidly solidifying into ice. Then she watched as her skin darkened to a sickly sort of gray, and she finally realized what was happening. He had kissed her in some manner to take one last measure of comfort for himself from her, but the move had been double edged in that it initially distracted her from his magic winding its way through her. Then again, the mark on her hand had always been his magic, it had coiled its way into the very fabric of the appendage if afflicted, and it seemed there was no way to draw it back out.

Her skin hardened and her fingers refused to respond, and then suddenly her arm, everything from her elbow down towards her fingertips turned to stone. She exhaled at the sight and a brief pang of panic rushed through her before the solid state gave. 

It was an odd thing to watch her own hand slowly turn to a sort of glittering dust. There was a moment of suspension, where the green glow of the anchor was suddenly no longer a part of her and it hovered just beyond as the hand that had held it bound crumbled. Then the glowing glob moved after the man that had left her there, through the liquid surface of the eluvian.

When the mirror solidified, she was truly alone.

A sob tried to pry its way free of her and she bit it back, sinking onto her heels. She had touched her heart once more, and then he had once more removed himself from her reach. Her absent hand no longer ached or called out to its owner, and she realized that in the wake of that singularly quelled pain, the throb in her chest became an amplified torrent. 

The familiar sound of a dragon’s call in the distance rumbled towards her and gently shook the ground beneath her knees.

When her emotions pitched and welled up in her eyes, she rolled her free hand into a fist. Something cold in her grip drew her to look at the simple object in her hand. Curved and worn, she had seen it countless times, suspended on a double cord of leather from around his neck. It had been staring her in the face the entire year he had been in her presence. A marker worn to subtly identify who and what he was. 

“Easier to be Fen’Harel without memories about him like a noose.” Cole spoke quietly. 

“How-” Ivuni hesitated, “how am I, are _we_ supposed to-”

Heavy wings beat slowly against the air as a large being settled itself near the edge of the cliff face and trilled quietly in her direction.

“She wants to take you home.” Cole stood and held his hand out for her to take. 

Ivuni stared at his outstretched palm for several moments, and phantom fingers twitched on her nonexistent left hand. 

“Did it to save you.” Cole pressed. 

Shifting forward, she slipped her right hand in against his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her balance wavered and she stumbled into him, though he seemed ready for such a shuffling display and caught her with ease. Cole stood her steady on her feet and drew her towards the waiting dragon that took to the air the moment Ivuni was settled over her shoulders. 

 

_What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you._

_And so he did._

_I did not. I would not lay with you under false pretenses._

_But you lied to me._

She pressed her face into the nape of the dragon’s neck as the familiar feel of decent funneled the air about them. The view below, however, was not what she had expected. The ruin in the middle of the lake, the trio of sentry pillars built around in the surrounding mountains. Where Fen’Harel had led the slaves to be free. 

“Athera.” Ivuni straightened slightly as the leaned slightly to better take in the deserted structure, she hadn’t seen it the best from above when she had happened upon it the first time. “This isn’t right.” She felt the dragon’s confusion slip through her connection with the Well and the sensation nearly pitched her completely from the creature’s shoulders. The feeling drew back and a rumble shook beneath her, almost like…laughter. “We need to return to Orlais.” She whispered and the dragon acquiesced, pushing back into the air and the lake bound elven ruin slowly retreated from view.

A chorus of startled screams welcomed them back to Halamshiral. 

“You appear to be alone, my dear.” Vivienne’s voice called up to her as Athera’s feet touched down in the palace courtyard. “Well, not exactly alone, per se,” she gave a simple nod, “I must commend your entrance.”

Ivuni hoisted her right leg over from around the dragon and slid down her left side, the fingers of her right hand following the motion until her feet were solid on the ground. Vivienne exhaled audibly and when she turned to meet the Enchantress’s eyes, she found the woman’s gaze on her left size, or more precisely her missing left hand. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” She told her, her voice flat, all inflection stripped. Her right hand slipped the jawbone into a pocket out of sight and she fixed her gaze on the looming palace. 

A mental nudge towards the eluvian tucked away had her feet moving.

She was aware of Vivienne shadowing her steps, but the other woman made no comment, nor did she press her with questions, she simply followed in silence. 

“Inquisitor.” One of the Orlesian guards pressed a fist to his chest. “The dragon?”

Ivuni paused briefly only to follow his gaze towards the lounging creature. “What about her?”

The guard looked at her when she turned back to him and he seemed to struggle for his words. “Will it-”

“She.”

“Will she be remaining here long?” He swallowed uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny. “Should we…” he glanced at his fellow guard who shrugged his shoulders, “should we arrange for…uhm…”

“She’s not going to eat anyone.” She settled him with a hand to his shoulder. “Unless they piss me off. Then she might.”

Ivuni left him without another word and stepped into what had once been a storage area, until their most recent visit when she found a painting hid away a path that actually led further into the castle. Vivienne was once more at her heels and a pair of startled elven servants quickly stepped out of her way.

_I will save the elven people._

She sought the Well’s guidance and will when she stood before the dormant eluvian. Lifting a hand, she set her palm flat against the cold glass and followed what the Well showed her, drawing her hand down in a sweeping motion and light followed beneath her palm. The familiar sound of foliage stretching and uncurling prompted her to glance briefly at the Enchantress, the woman’s eyes fixated on several vases of collected plants. The vines and canes coiled outward, thickening each plant until a multitude of flowers bloomed in a rainbow of array of colors in the sconce light. 

“A side effect of the Well of Sorrows?” Vivienne asked as she reached hesitantly towards an unfurling red rose. 

Ivuni exhaled slowly. “No.” She looked at the other woman and beautiful dark eyes swept to meet hers, questions organizing.

The eluvian hummed and illuminated and within a handful of beats, Dorian stumbled through first, followed closely by Sera, Bull, and Cassandra. 

“My darling girl!” Dorian was the first upon her, his hands tight at her shoulders, his eyes searching her every inch. “We thought the Qunari had taken you.” He started at the sight of her left arm. “What…?”

Silence settled over them and eyes bore straight through her skin as though they were seeking the answers she wanted to keep tucked away from the world. Just for a moment longer she wanted to keep him buried inside of herself, just a moment, without-

“Glowbug?” Sera stepped before her and broke the stare she had created between herself and the palace floor.

“I found Solas.” She confessed quietly, then she looked beyond the other elf and towards Cassandra. “I’ve made my choice about the Inquisition.” 

The Seeker inclined her head. “Then we need to speak with Leliana and the rest of the gathered council.”

 

“My agents had found nothing.” Leliana confessed as she joined them. “With eluvians…he could be anywhere.”

It was not surprising as it was the truth. He had told her that he had taken control of the eluvians, had overridden the portion that Brialla had briefly governed, but he didn’t say whether or not the Orlesian elf still lived. 

“With the Inquisition officially disbanded we have no army, no formal alliances.” Cassandra pointed out, but that was the point of breaking their organization apart. No army, no alliances, no traces to keep track of.

“We have what we truly need.” Leliana said.

“We will need to be careful.” The Seeker pressed.

“Solas knows everything about us.” Leliana shifted and folded her hands behind her. It was both odd and comforting to see her out of her holy robes and back in the garb she had become familiar with. “Who we are, how we work. Our strengths, and weaknesses.”

“Then we find people he doesn’t know.” Ivuni interrupted as she pressed the tip of the knife in her hand through the Tevinter Imperium on the map laid out before them, the point through the small city of ‘Solas’. “We will save our friend from himself, if we can.”

“I’ll arrange a scouting party to-” Harding

“No.” Ivuni cut her off. “There is something that I need to ask of you, as my trust spreads little beyond this circle at the moment.” Harding gave a nod to encourage her words. “I need you to find a Dalish woman, a Mage. She won’t trust the people that Leliana or Cassandra would send to request her.”

“Another Mage?” Cassandra crossed her arms.

“Not just any Mage.” Ivuni shook her head and the faintest wisp of a smile tipped her lips. “I need a Mage familiar with eluvians. I need you to find Merrill.”


	25. Chapter 25

Her fingers idly twirled at the now short red tips of her otherwise waist length ivory hair that was caught up in a single braid, her eyes on the fire but her mind somewhere else. Always somewhere else, some _when_ else trying to piece the present together. There were days when she was sure everything was still some dream that she was bound to wake up from, even after so much time, even after so many faces, so many names that she had come to know and care for. Waking from such a dream seemed it would both a blessing and a curse. 

“Why don’t you just cut it off and be done with it?” Sera said as she crossed her ankles and sat down beside her with a mug of her own and the curved end of a loaf of bread.

Ivuni glanced at the red, then flipped the braid over her left shoulder before picking her warm mug up from the ground. “It’s a reminder.”

“Sure.” Sera shrugged her shoulders. “ _That’s_ still bloody weird.” 

Ivuni turned towards her, the start of a question on her face, until Sera gestured with her chin beyond them. When she turned again, she noted the rose bush and the heavy red blossoms that gently perfumed the cool night air. It had been a waif of a plant when they had set up camp four days ago, now it appeared as though it had been well cared for for years, and no one had lifted a finger to coerce it into such a beautiful state since their arrival. Mirana fawned over its progress daily, but often chewed at the inside of her cheek rather than gush openly. 

“I hadn’t thought you so disturbed by some pretty flowers, Sera.” She replied, a coy smile flirting with the left corner of her mouth. 

“Pssh.” The other woman rolled her eyes and made a _blrrph_ sound with her tongue. “That was not what I was referring to and you know it.”

Ivuni shrugged her shoulders slowly and lifted the warm chocolate liquid to her lips for an appreciative sip. “I don’t control it.” She reminded her companion. Without warning, Sera nonchalantly tipped an open flask over the mug of warm chocolate and Ivuni sighed and her face fell flat. “That’s-”

“You haven’t slept in two days.” Sera cut her off. “No one wants a repeat of the last time that happened.”

“I had clothes on, I don’t know why you keep insisting that I was sleep walking naked.”

“Smalls barely constitute ‘clothes’.” Sera snickered. “I don’t think Jameson has fully recovered. That poor daft child.”

“There was nothing to scar him.” She insisted. 

“Drink your fancy chocolate.” Sera reached forward and lifted the bottom of her cup upward. “That beautiful concoction will keep ya from snoring too.”

Ivuni scoffed at the thought. “I do not snore.”

“You sure as fuck do when you’ve been sleep deprived fer days on end.”

The thought of sleep was a daunting one. It was a bittersweet escape from the waking world. It allowed her to shut herself off from her current duties and hunting, yet always drew from the deepest well of her emotions. The temple dream barely brushed up against her for attention, and she sometimes wondered if it was held at bay by the lingering familiar presence that buffered up against the edges of her subconscious. 

Always just out of reach. 

It was tormenting in a way. He was always there, adrift at the borders of her dreams, seemingly staving back the nightmares, yet always withdrew when she tried to advance on his location, always slipped through her fingers. If she kept herself centered and kept her awareness of him within herself, he lingered, a silent sentinel. She wondered, then, if he slept when she did, or if his magic allowed him to exist in some capacity on both planes at once, or perhaps even multiple. 

“Boss!” Bull stood abruptly from his place across the fire from her and she startled out of her thoughts, the Well ushering her to her feet for guard. 

When she followed his line of sight, she fixated on the eluvian and Merrill stumbling through. “He’s in the Vimmark Mountains.” She uttered as she leaned forward and placed her hands on her knees. Two other elven scouts quickly followed her from beyond the glass, garbed in greens and browns. “Some ruin that I have never seen before.”

Sera was at her feet in no time as Ivuni reached for her leather jacket and slid it first over her half left arm, then onto her right side with practiced ease. “Dorian isn’t here yet.” Sera insisted as she glanced towards Bull. 

“We don’t have time to wait for him right now.” Ivuni replied as she bent and retrieved the curved double bladed dagger from beside her pack. It was as long as her right arm, but Dagna had worked and cured the steel into something light enough to twirl with little effort that wouldn’t be impeded by her unbalanced form. 

“You want to barrel in after Solass without Dorian? And Viv is still on her way back from Orlais!”

“We have a capable Mage, Sera.” Ivuni sighed as she slid the long blade into the strap at her upper back. 

“And we’re just taking the one?”

She stopped and set her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “If we show up on his heels with a horde of Mages, he’s going to be able to pinpoint their magical signature and be immediately alerted to our presence.” She withdrew her hand and worked on buttoning her jacket, one to have her efforts replaced by Sera’s nimble fingers. “The last time he was spotted, he was gone within moments because we poured through an eluvian with too many people.”

“Fine.” The rogue muttered. 

“So you, me, Bull, and Merrill-”

“Do you honestly think that you are leaving me behind?” Cassandra moved into her periphery. 

“-and Cassandra,” she smirked, “are going to approach this carefully for once.”

 

“What is this place?” She whispered as she looked up at the looming ruin before her. 

It was dark there, much as it had been at camp, only unlike camp, the visible full moon offered enough light to take in the shadowy expanse of what appeared to have been a small town at one time. The architecture, however, was unlike any they could identify. Such seemingly simple structures appeared compiled of mud and ash covered marble-like substances laced with veins and pillars of crystal. And at some point, the area had been lush with floral life; the hollow and skeletal remains of trees, shrubbery, vining plants, and even dried out flowers appeared almost perfectly preserved in an untouched pocket of time. 

“I have crossed this mountain many times, and this is the first time that I have seen it.” Merrill confessed quietly as she as well took in the state of the closest ruins.

“Great.” Sera set her hands on her hips. “We’re traipsing through some haunted magical shite place that no one can identify.”

“Whoa, big words, Buttercup.” Bull rumbled from her left. “‘Traipsing’. Varric will need to hear of this.”

“You better not.” The blonde snapped. 

“You’d think the wild was reclaiming it.” Ivuni interrupted as she stepped towards the nearest fractured building, it had been white or pale pink once. She scratched at the dirt of what seemed a corner with her fingernails to reveal worn and dulled alabaster, then her fingers set against a thick ashen vine with shriveled leaves that appeared akin to Elfroot, only the green shrub she was used to seeing did not grow as tall as the one before her. “This was woven through the structure long before it was ever a ruin.”

“Can you…” Sera trailed off, her lips pursed.

“Can you make it green again?” Bull finished for her. 

“It doesn’t work like that.” She murmured in reply until a lighter hand flattened over the back of hers, flattening her palm against the brittle vine. 

“You have to want it to.” Merrill said. 

Ivuni huffed. “It doesn’t work like that.” She repeated. “There’s no turning it on and off. I’m _not_ a Mage, as I have said a hundred times. As beautiful as it would be if it were alive, as fascinating as it would be to decipher what it once was when it was a green, vibrant, living thing it just-” she exhaled when the gray hue beneath her fingertips sought a more emerald tone that slowly coiled out and upward.

“Like I said,” Merrill bumped her hip with her own, “you have to want it to.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when the sound of something exhaling nearby alerted both herself and the First next to her of another presence. Something large. Then a high pitched chittering, many… _beings_.

“That sounds promising.” Sera whispered, her tone harsh as she reached for her bow. 

The first giant spider leg was pinned with an arrow and the creature squealed as half a dozen more rushed around it like water split by stone. A massive axe split the body of another that rushed towards her as the familiar sheen of magic swept around to envelope her form. She reached back for the blade and drew it forth without much further thought. 

The short scuffle left her with ichor splattered across her face, chest, and upper arms, her eyes quickly searching to number her companions all still on their feet. As Cassandra withdrew her blade from a steaming body, something large knocked into her, throwing her through the air like a doll as a deep bellow ripped through their small party. She would liken the sound to a smaller dragon call, but it was deeper, drier, almost wooden in nature.

“What the fuck is that?” Bull growled as another much larger, albeit spindly, spider stepped from the shadows and quickly put itself between each of them, its focusing homing in once more on Cassandra. 

Movement in the shadows further into the town, nearer to the mountain face briefly stole her focus and her breath caught in her throat. The other two that flanked him were of little consequence, their hoods drawn up to obscure most of their features. But him, she couldn’t fight the way her eyes narrowed directly onto his form half cloaked in the night's natural dark, the moonlight toying with his features and casting him in gray.

Cassandra’s angry scream lit up her senses and she ripped her gaze away from the armor clad elven man, resettling on the human woman who had wormed her way into the corridors of her heart. She didn’t think about her actions, she simply lifted her arm at her side, the blade brought ready as she rushed towards the overly tall creature that screeched and clacked its jaws together while it lunged towards Bull. 

An arrow embedded deep in its side, but the bolt seemed to barely register which meant its pain threshold was ridiculously high, it didn’t feel it, or its focus on ridding itself of Cassandra and Bull in its focus was too great to be swayed. The sudden eruption of a ring of fire around them didn’t seem to move the creature either, it simply held to its assault on the pair of warriors right before it, thick limbs clanging against metal.

Ivuni made her legs move, pushed her feet to put herself closer. She swept the blade outward towards one of its rear legs to draw its focus and it hissed angrily. It response was near immediate which allowed Cassandra to regain her footing. Its legs turned it around the ancient town center faster than any creature she had ever seen move, its motions groaning through the limbs the way a tree bough would groan under pressure. It lashed out with two front appendages; one she missed with ease, only to be caught and knocked from her feet by the second, allowing it to clamor forward over her. 

A pair of arrows embedded in the thick tissue of what she assumed was its neck, but it never wavered as it focused in directly on her. She swung her blade when it snapped once towards her and caught the underside of its chin, earning her another splatter of dark ichor across her cheeks. She watched it tense to counter and then it completely locked up as though caught in the throes of an ice spell. Ivuni brought the double blade before herself, held it across her chest in preparation for another strike, but it never seemed to follow.

She watched five pale eyes shift about atop the creature’s head as it huffed air in and out of its thick body. It dipped its form once, slightly towards her, then hesitated and she fixated once more on its searching eyes that never seemed to settle. 

“Glowbug?” Sera’s voice sounded closer than she had expected.

The creature seemed to shift slightly until Ivuni released the white-knuckle grip on her blade. “It’s blind.” She murmured. It leaned closer to her and breathed again prompting her to wince until she realized it wasn’t just breathing, it was _smelling_ her. A deep breath inward, short outward, then another greedy inhale. 

It made another noise, something quieter as its legs shifted and it breathed in the scent of her chest and then gradually worked its way down her form. It lingered near her feet as a sound reverberated deep within its body. Then it lowered itself to the ground, its front legs bending, its middle and back sets less so and she chanced sitting up. The humming continued even as she climbed up onto her knees. Its eyes continued their rapid motions and she glanced first towards Sera who stood just out of reach, then towards Merrill just beyond her. 

“That is a varterral.” The other Dalish woman assessed. “They aren’t supposed to attack elves. It’s…yielding to you.”

When she looked beyond the creature to where Solas had been, the place he and the other elves had occupied was deserted. 

 

The ‘clues’ that they had taken from within the cavern in the mountainside sat scattered across a pair of camp tables, Merrill’s and Dorian’s voices catching in the intermittent quiet. The small grouping gathered was abuzz since they had returned through the eluvian with their drawings, artifacts, wall rubbings, and description of the varterral that still stood guard to the abandoned town. 

It was elven. _Elvhen_. The city or whatever it had been. It had belonged to the People long ago, the varterral crafted by one of their ‘gods’ for protection. She wondered if it had been Dirthamen, once Merrill had identified the creature as what it was. There was a story about him fashioning the first -or one of the first- varterrals out of rock and tree to guard a town he favored when it had been harassed by a high dragon. At the thought of a great dragon, she felt the now familiar ripple of Athera against her mind. 

“Yer supposed to be in bed.” Sera pushed a hand against her shoulder. 

Ivuni smiled, the effort trying. “I am planning to be soon.”

Sera’s face remained flat. “Now.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a nod of her head. “Fine.”

“And Cullen sent the last of your things gathered from Skyhold.” The blonde called as she retreated towards her tent within the ruined tower. 

There were only a handful of steps that still clung to the otherwise narrows walls. The almost complete circle of the structure was wide enough that she could stretch out near twice between one point and another. It offered shelter from the cooler winds that the sandy stretch of plain would rattle her tent with were it out in the open, and also allowed for greater shade from any incoming light. 

A small crate waited for her next to the bedroll, the lid already loosened by whomever had received it from the delivery runner. It was easy to remove with a firm tug. The contents dark, she simply reached in and unfolded a black scarf, as well as a blue colored one that needed to be washed. Tipping the crate over onto a corner, she let what was left within tumble out into the open; a puzzle box, a green beaded bracelet that Vivienne had gifted her before their break from Skyhold, the jacket she had worn when she had last seen Solas. She swallowed at the sight of it, then moved to push the items back into the box when she noted a double set of leather cords hanging out of one of the jacket’s pockets. 

She exhaled and pressed her knuckles briefly against her forehead and pressed her eyes shut as though not seeing the item would make it disappear. She had tucked it away in a pocket upon her return to Orlais and then put it out of her mind. Even when his steps shadowed hers in the Fade, she hadn’t thought of it in months, near six. When she opened her eyes, it remained. 

Gathering herself, she hooked her fingers around it and drew it out into the open. 

_I look at you and I see what you truly are._

She tipped the crate back upright, and gasped when her palm caught and tore along an exposed nail and a scant amount of blood rushed to the surface of her hand. Shaking her head, she curled the cords about her wrist until the jawbone settle against her bloodied hand as she drew on her memories of him from the ruin where he had finally divulged his truth to her, gave her everything and left it at her feet before leaving her alone with it all. 

She had had him again, and within the span of what had seemed like moments, far too fleeting, she had lost him once more. Part of her wished she could go back and beg him to turn her to stone, let her become some cold and lifeless remnant of what she was just so that she didn’t have to feel the way that she did every day, over and over. It was gripping and fierce in its intensity when she chose to acknowledge it. When he had left her alone after defeating Corypheus, it felt as if he had shredded her heart and left the pieces in his wake for her to chase after. When he left her after the Qunari had unsettled Thedas she wasn’t sure she could give name to what he had taken her over then. 

Her right fore and middle fingers prodded at the short end to her left side where her arm used to be. His actions had been taken to save her life, but it was just another part of her that he had stolen. The magic was gone, no longer was she plagued by a subtle current of power, no longer did the physical pain rip its way up from her fingertips. He had spared her a physically painful demise but had left her with so much more agony to survive with. 

It would have been kinder if he could have at least pretended to no longer care for her, if he could have looked at her as though she were human and had never meant more to him than a passing acquaintance. Instead, he had still addressed her as vhenan, his voice had still quivered when he let his emotions touch his words. He had still sought to justify himself to her as if he needed to. She was simple, she was mortal, and she would disappear if he succeeded and remade their world. Ash and dust, caught in the stream of time, and he still sought to offer her his compassion, still tried to lay himself bare before her. 

_How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence._

It would hurt less if she could imagine he didn’t care about her. If he didn’t-

“But that would be a lie.” A gentle voice fluttered across the room. 

“Cole!” She gasped at the sudden presence that had been vacant from her life for weeks and her grip on the jawbone tightened. 

“Broken, bleeding, pain.” He said as he stepped closer to her, his eyes on her bloodied hand. “The pain is in the soul, like always. Nas’falon. It is true pain; warm, wretched, splitting like an angry blade. He thought to be rid of it, that’s why he gave it to you.”

She wanted him to stop. Giving voice to her grief only made it worse.

“But it is _his_ pain.” He assured her. 

Ivuni felt herself frown as she looked at him. 

“Always when he looks at you, it hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same.” He echoed the same words he had gleaned and offered years prior, then his voice lowered. “He hides because he is afraid of you, afraid of you turning golden.”

“Cole, why would he be afraid of me?” That sounded absurd. 

“He already told you. On the mountain where the sky is held back. On the balcony after he kissed your lips. Soft like rose petals, tasted like honey and apples.”

Her eyes fell back to the jawbone and she turned it over in her bloodied hand, imagining it suspended from around his neck. Then she pressed her eyes shut as more tears hurried up into them. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.” Ivuni rolled her lower lip between her teeth, and bit down to stifle the threatening sob.

Heat filled her palm and magic prickled at the contact between the bone and her skin. And then suddenly, she could _see_.

The world came into a harsh sharp focus that blurred gently at the edges. As her thoughts and memories and the weight of the Well struggled to align, her fingertips settled against the rough stone beneath her and she drew herself through the fabric of the world. The shift was made without considerations of her immediate environment, the people present, or taking in the full account of the weight of magic she drew about herself. She simply inhaled and she was gone.

When she blinked, the transition dropped her once more on her hands and knees, but her surroundings were startlingly different. The crumbled tower, warm sand, the scent of aria, all gone. Smooth stone pressed cold against her knees and single palm, a thin sprinkling of dust clung to corners and floorboards where the occasional breeze through the still open window could not fully reach. A familiar red rug intricately woven by black and gold, faded slightly from the sun’s constant bombardment sat just out of reach, still secured beneath the trunk at the end of the bed. But the bed was in the wrong place…wasn’t it? It should be closer to the balcony doors.

Ivuni blinked twice as she lifted her head, her vision dimming slightly as the world tipped slightly sideways. The fireplace was right where it was supposed to be, but the couch was wrong, though it had been that way when she had last been there.

She lifted her hand and pressed it against her forehead. A multitude of thoughts struggled to settle properly in her mind but she was also keenly aware of and taken by the dust motes lingering in the half light spilling in through the pastel stained glass. 

A squawking drew her focus towards the nearest open window and she noted the black form of a raven lingering on the balcony balustrade. It lifted its head and craned it slightly as though it were trying to get a clearer view of her. A quick flapping had it up and swooping into the room until it drew its wings back. Rather than landing, it disintegrated into smoke that bent and curled inward on itself, gaining density and form, until it stood to its full height, appearance no longer avian, looking down at her with one blue eye.

“You’re not him.” She shook her head.

_[To be continued.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013459/chapters/32272290)_


End file.
